8051014. 


• 


•'  •      - 


w: 


PANSY'S 
SUNDAY  BOOK 


BY 


FAMOUS     AMERICAN     WRITERS 


FULLY  ILLUSTRATED 


BOSTON 
LOTHROP   PUBLISHING   COMPANY 


COPYRIGHT,  1886,  by  D.  LOTHROP  &  Co. 

COPYRIGHT,  1888,  1893,  by  D,  LOTHROP  COMPANY. 

COPYRIGHT,  1895,  by  LOTHROP  PUBLISHING  COMPANY. 


All  rights  reserved. 


J.  J.  Arakelyan,  Printer,  Boston. 


IN  LATE  NOVEMBER. 


A  STORY  TO  REMEMBER,  IN  NOVEMBER. 


IF  you'll  sit  on  my  knee 
As  still  as  a  stone, 
And  listen  to  me 

While  we're  all  alone  — 
While  the  wind  whistles  cold, 

And  the  snow  falls  so  fast, 
While  the  young  and  the  old 

Feel  the  chiU  of  the  blast  — 
I  will  tell  you  about 

A  poor  little  lad 
Who  now,  without  doubt, 

Is  smiling  and  glad. 

(His  picture.') 
Brown  and  curly  his  head, 

Bright  blue  was  his  eye, 
His  feet  bare  and  red, 

His  look  rather  shy ;   ' 
His  face,  somewhat  soiled, 

Unfamiliar  with  soap, 


Was  thin,  while  there  curled 
In  his  neck,  like  a  rope, 

Certain  locks  which  had  grown, 

Unhindered  by  shears 
That  he  never  had  known, 

You  would  think,  all  his  years  ; 
His  shirt  was  a  sight, 

You  may  think,  to  behold, 
Through  which  shone  the  light 

Unblushiugly  bold. 

His  trousers,  in  shreds, 

His  legs  dangled  round, 
Long  needing  the  threads 

Which  they  never  had  found ; 
While  his  cap  —  what  was  left 

Of  the  original  pattern  — 
Of  all  shape  was  bereft, 

And  looked  like  a  slattern. 


A  STORY  TO  REMEMBER,  IN  NOVEMBER. 


Such,  such  was  the  creature 

Who  stood  in  the  door ; 
In  dress,  form  and  feature  — 

Nothing  less,  nothing  more. 
May  you  love  this,  my  lad 

From  the  slums  of  the  city ; 
Not  think  him  all  bad, 

But  regard  him  with  pity. 

(Tlie  name.) 
Though  nameless  he  stood 

Clad  in  rags  in  that  door, 
Whether  evil  or  good, 

He  is  nameless  no  more. 
We'll  call  him  hereafter, 

If  you  make  no  objection, 
In  tears  —  or  in  laughter, 

On  further  reflection  — 
Thomas  Tinker,  all  told, 

But  "  Tommy  "  for  short, 
Until  he  grows  old  — 

Perhaps  then,  when  in  sport. 

But  I'll  tell  you  I  think,  sir, 

Before  saying  more, 
This  is  not  the  »  Tom  Tinker" 

You've  heard  of  before, 
But  another,  whose  fame 

Is  as  worthy  of  mention 
As  the  first  of  his  name 

Who  claimed  your  attention. 

(The  story.) 

We  will  trace  him  as  we  may,  on  his  way 
From  that  doorstep,  where  at  play  on  that  day ; 
We  will  see  just  how  he  earned 
That  for  which  his  young  heart  yearned, 
How  from  good  he  firmly  turned  not  astray. 

Selling  papers  he  began,  little  man, 
Then  on  errands  often  ran,  like  a  "  van  "  ; 
Then  his  matches  he  would  sell, 
Blacking  boots  the  while,  as  well ; 
And  with  cheerful  voice  would  tell  all  his  plan. 

Tried  his  courage  was,  I'm  told  ;  nor  condoled 
By  humanity,  which  rolled,  with  its  gold, 

On  its  laughing,  rushing  way, 

Like  a  crowd  of  boys  at  play, 
Or  a  flock  of  sheep  astray  from  the  fold. 


But  his  heart  was  brave  and  true,  and  he  knew 
That  to  flinch  would  never  do ;  so  say  you  ? 

Thus  he  bravely  bore  his  part 

With  a  time  and  loyal  heart, 
Never  doubting  from  the  start ;  ' '  tried  and  true." 

The  days  seemed  often  long ;  but  his  song 
Rang  brave  and  strong ;  just  the  song 

Of  the  wares  he  had  to  sell ; 

Of  the  news  they  had  to  tell  — 
Good  and  bad  alike  as  well,  for  the  throng. 

And  he  worked,  and  worked  away,  every  day, 
With  his  heart  as  light  and  gay,  as  the  May ; 

And  he  did  his  level  best,  late  and  early ; 

Never  grumbling,  never  sad,  and  never  surly ; 
With  a  smile  'neath  his  golden  head  and  curly, 
as  at  play. 

So  he  fought  the  fiends  of  hunger  and  of  cold, 

true  as  gold ; 
Like  a  veteran  tried  and  bold,  I  am  told, 

Was  this  soldier  in  life's  battle 

'Mid  the  daily  hum  and  rattle ; 
Driven  forth  like  sheep  or  cattle,  to  be  sold. 

Many  brave  fall  by  the  way,  every  day ; 
Some  survive,  their  country's  stay ;  well  they 
may; 

But  of  all  the  rank  and  file 

Grandly  marching  up  the  aisle 
Of  stern  duty,  all  the  while,  who  can  say 

Which  the  most  deserve  the  name,  writ  in  fame  ? 
Those  who  fell  'mid  shot  and  flame,  on  land  or 

main, 

Or  those  who  in  obscurer  strife 
Have  given  heart,  and  soul,  and  life 
For   husband   ill,  for  child,   or  wife,   in   duty 
"tame"? 

•v 

Well,  Tommy   stood,  sturdy   and   grave  —  no 

slave  — 
His  soul  had  what  we  well  might  crave ;    no 

knave  0 

Was  he ;  but  faithful  in  the  daily  fight, 
Cheerful,  happy,  eager,  bright  — 
A  nineteenth  century  valiant  knight,  youthful, 
brave. 

Perhaps  you'd  like  to  know'  his  foes,  who  arose 
To  strike  him  down  with  deadly  blows.     Who 
knows 


EGBERT  TRUESDALE'S  LOGIC. 


But  such  as  he  ?     Who  else  can  tell 
The  horrid  shapes,  the  cruel  spell 
These  demons  from  the  pit  of  hell  disclose? 

"Hunger,"  you  say,  "sickness  and  cold;  no 
fold; 

No  home  that  such  as  he  might  hold,  to  mould 
And  make  them  good,  and  true,  and  wise?  " 
Ah,  yes !  and  on  the  streets  before  his  eyes 

"Were  Satan's  minions  in  disguise ;  so  bold ! 

These  dens  of  ill,  they  grow,  you  know ; 
We  find  them  everywhere  as  we  go,  ready  to 
throw 

Their  snares  with  fiendish  skill. 

Almost  'twould  seem,  to  suit  their  will, 
They'd  gorge  earth's  prisons  to  their  fill  below. 

God  looked  on  Tommy  in  the  fight  for  right, 
Saw   darkness    struggling   with    the   light,    so 

bright  — 

That  light  which  shone  on  Eastern  plain 
Where  shepherds  heard  angelic  strain 
Such  as  will  surely  come  again  some  night 

God  knew  about  the  thrall,  the  small, 
Weak  hands  which  yet  might  fall,  the  call 
Which  all  too  loud  might  prove  to  be 
For  one  so  young,  so  little  helped  as  he, 
So  tempted  oft,  and  yet  withal  so  free  to  fall. 

And  so,  one  cold  Thanksgiving  Day,  so  gay 
With  jingling  bells,  and  sleigh  and  play, 
The  father  sent  a  messenger  in  love, 
To  take  poor  Tommy  to  his  home  above, 
Where,  clad  in  garments  whiter  than  the  dove, 
he'll  stay. 

And  now  no  more  he'll  walk  that  street,  where 

sleet 

And  slush  so  cruel  hurt  his  feet ;  repeat 
No  more  his  song  of  paper  vending, 
Shiver  no  more  while  restless  horse  attending, 
But  join  in  song  triumphant,  never  ending  and 
sweet. 

But  on  this  day  of  this  November,  remember 
Tommies  there  are,  with  feet  as  cold  and  tender, 

remember, 

As  his  once  were,  who  now  on  golden  strand 
Meet  rich  and  poor,  offthis  and  every  land. 
These  need  your  store,  your  love,  your  helping 
hand,  remember!  R. 


ROBERT  TRUESDALE'S  LOGIC. 


HEY  were  great  friends,  Robert 
Truesdale  and  Claire  Water- 
man. During  the  long,  bright 
summer  at  the  seashore  they 
spent  as  much  time  together  as 
possible,  and  discussed  all  sorts 
of  questions.  They  had  opinions  concerning 
everything  under  the  sun,  and  agreed  so  well, 
generally,  that  to  find  a  subject  upon  which 
they  totally  differed  only  added  interest  to  the 
summer. 

One  of  these  subjects  was  found  one  morning 
when  they  sat  together  on  the  beach.  It  began 
— that  is,  the  discussion  did — by  Robert's  mak- 
ing the  astonishing  statement  that  he  never  went 
to  circuses. 

Claire  stopped  playing  with  the  sand  which 
she  was  letting  run  idly  through  her  fingers,  and 
turned  so  that  she  could  see  his  face.  "How 
very  queer!"  she  said;  "I  thought  all  boys 
went  to  circuses.  Did  you  never  go?  " 

"I  went  once,"  said  Robert,  low- voiced, 
"  when  I  was  quite  a  little  fellow,  and  that  was 
once  too  often.  I  never  cared  to  try  it  again." 
"I  cannot  imagine  why.  I  think  circuses  are 
splendid.  We  never  go  in  the  city,  of  course. 
Why,  they  don't  have  circuses  in  cities,  do  they? 
But  I  go  to  my  Auntie's  every  summer  for  two 
months  —  I  always  have  until  this  summer  — 
and  Uncle  West  takes  us  children  to  the  circus 
just  as  regularly.  That  is  the  reason  I  like  the 
country  so  much  better  than  the  city,  you  can 
go  to  such  queer  out-of-door  things.  And  I 
think  the  little  circus  ponies  are  too  cunning 
for  anything ;  I  have  always  wanted  one  for 
my  own.  Mamma  laughs,  and  says  she  doesn't 
know  but  I  will  be  a  circus  rider  when  I  grow 
up  —  and  then  the  clown  is  so  funny.  Why 
don't  you  want  to  go,  Robert  ?  What  happened 
when  you  went  once ?  Was  there  an  accident? " 
"No,"  said  Robert  slowly,  "I  suppose  not; 
I  am  afraid  it  was  an  every-day  affair.  It  is  a 
long  story,  Claire,  and  begins  away  back  of 
that  day.  I  have  been  brought  up  differently 
from  you,  you  know.  My  father  was  a  minis- 
ter, and  he  and  my  mother  did  not  approve  of 
shows  of  that  kind,  and  I  was  never  taken  to 


EGBERT    TEUESDALE'S     LOGIC. 


them  when  I  was  a  small  boy.  I  never  heard 
nor  thought  much  about  them ;  we  lived  in  a 
large  town,  but  not  too  large  for  the  traveling 
circus ;  but  I  got  the  idea,  somehow,  that  only 
low  people  attended  such  places,  and  never 
coaxed  to  go." 

Claire  exclaimed  over  this,  "Why,  Robert, 
where  my  Auntie  lives  everybody  goes,  only 
the  minister  and  a  few  old  dried-up  people." 

"Yes,  I  know,"  said  Robert  gravely ;  "some 
people  in  the  country  have  different  views  from 
those  which  my  father  and  mother  had ;  but  I 
did  not  know  it  when  I  was  a  little  chap ;  I 
thought  that  all  respectable  people  thought 


the  boys,  the  more  I  became  convinced  that  it 
was  because  my  father  was  a  minister  that  I 
had  been  held  away  from  such  places.  '  Of 
course  ministers  ought  not  to  go,'  I  told  my- 
self, '  because '  —  and  there  I  would  have  to 
stop ;  I  knew  no  reason  why  they  should  not  go 
where  other  people  did,  and  could  not  reason 
about  it  any  better  than  some  grown  people  can 
nowadays ;  still  I  called  it  a  settled  point,  and 
began  to  coax  my  grandmother  to  let  me  go  to 
the  circus.  '  Just  this  once,'  I  said  to  her ;  '  I 
want  to  see  for  myself.' 

' '  I  have  never  understood  how  she  came  to 
let  me  have  my  way,  unless  it  was  because  she 


"HOW  VERY  QUKEK!" 


alike.  The  first  time  I  changed  my  ideas  any 
was  when  I  had  gone  to  spend  the  year  with 
my  Grandmother  in  the  country  —  that  was  the 
summer  after  mother  died,  and  my  father  had 
died  the  winter  before.  I  found  that  a  great 
many  country  people  went  to  circuses.  All  the 
boys  and  girls  who  went  to  school  with  me  in 
the  little  old  schoolhouse  were  looking  forward 
to  going  as  a  matter  of  course;  and  I  heard 
more  talk  about  the  circus  that  summer  than  I 
had  ever  heard  in  my  life  before.  I  began  to 
want  to  go  very  much.  The  more  I  talked  with 


was  a  very  indulgent  grandmother,  and  pitied 
the  orphan  boy,  and  could  not  bear  to  say  '  No.' 
Any  way,  I  received  permission,  and  the  neces- 
sary quarter  of  a  dollar,  and  started  off  in  great 
glee. 

"I  ought  to  tell  you,"  he  continued,  after  a 
slight  hesitation  —  and  the  flush  on  his  brown 
cheek  deepened  a  little  —  ' '  that  although  I  was 
only  a  little  fellow  ten  years  old,  I  was  a  mem- 
ber of  the  church,  aifd  was  trying  to  live  my 
religion.  There  was  a  ragged  little  boy  not 
much  older  than  myself,  very  ignorant  and  neg- 


HOW    THE    DEEK     KNEW. 


lected,  but  a  leader  in  all  sorts  of  mischief, 
whom  I  had  had  ambitions  to  help.  I  had 
been  kind  to  him,  instead  of  making  sport  of 
his  rags,  as  the  other  boys  did,  until  I  had  a 
certain  sort  of  influence  over  him,  and  he  had 
partly  promised  me  to  try  to  be  a  better  boy. 

"Well,  I  went  to  the  circus,  and  saw  the 
ponies,  and  heard  the  jokes,  and  was  delighted ; 
but  as  I  stood  around  outside  afterwards,  open- 
mouthed  and  open-eyed,  I  saw  two  of  the  men 
whom  I  had  most  admired  in  the  ring,  fighting. 
They  had  been  drinking  just  enough  to  make 
them  quarrelsome,  and  such  horrid  oaths  as 
they  were  using  I  had  never  even  imagined  pos- 
sible before.  I  stood  still  with  fright  and  horror 
and  watched  the  blows,  and  listened  to  the  vile 
language,  until  somebody  touched  my  elbow, 
and  there  was  little  Pete,  the  ragged  boy.  He 
was  grinning  wickedly.  '  My  eyes ! '  he  said, 
'  was  you  in  there  ? '  nodding  toward  the  tent. 
'  I  was  struck  all  of  a  heap  when  I  see  you 
come  out.  I  didn't  think  this  kind  was  for 
you.  I  thought  you  belonged  to  the  "goody- 
goodies,"  you  know.  Miss  Wheeler,  she  said 
when  she  was  talking  to  us  fellows  about  it, 
"  O,  no !  Robert  Truesdale  won't  go  to  the  cir- 
cus, I  am  sure ;  he  is  his  father's  own  boy,  and 
is  walking  the  same  road  he  did."  I  guess  you 
got  off  the  road  this  time,  didn't  you  ? ' 

"  I  do  not  believe  I  shall  ever  forget  the 
wicked  leer  in  the  little  fellow's  face  as  he  said 
those  words ;  and  I  am  sure  I  shall  never  forget 
the  feeling  of  shame  which  I  had  as  I  looked  at 
those  two  dreadful  men  with  the  blood  stream- 
ing down  their  faces,  and  the  vile  words  stream- 
ing from  their  mouths,  and  realized  that  I  had 
spent  my  afternoon  in  laughing  at  their  speeches, 
and  had  been  found  out  of  the  road  in  which  my 
father  had  walked  —  so  far  out  that  this  street 
boy  had  noticed  it !  I  turned  and  ran  away  as 
fast  and  as  far  as  I  could,  and  I  do  not  think  I 
shall  ever  attend  another  circus." 

"How  very  strange!"  said  Claire;  "but 
then,  after  all,  Robert,  bad  men  will  swear  and 
drink  and  fight.  You  did  not  make  them  any 
worse  by  going  to  see  them  ride." 

"I  can't  be  sure  of  that,  Claire.  What  if 
my  twenty-five  cents  helped  to  encourage  them 
to  live  the  life  which  kept  them  in  the  midst  of 


such  temptations  ?  That  is  what  good  men  who 
have  studied  and  thought  about  these  things  say 
of  the  circus.  Besides,"  and  here  the  boy's  face 
took  on  a  little  touch  of  lofty  scorn,  "I  want  to 
grow  up  to  be  such  a  character  that  the  jokes 
and  jumpings  of  evil  men  cannot  amuse  me ;  I 
want  to  learn  to  be  above  them.  Then  you  see 
what  the  ragged  little  street  boy  thought  ?  " 

' '  Yes,"  said  Claire  gravely ;  "I  never  thought 
much  about  it ;  I  just  went,  of  course,  because 
the  others  did,  but  I  shouldn't  like  to  be  counted 
on  that  side,  exactly.  Robert,  maybe  I  won't 
go  any  more.'  I  must  think  about  it." 

MYRA  SPAFFOKD. 


HOW   THE   DEER   KNEW. 


Y  neighbor's  little  boy  one  even- 
ing saw  his  teacher  coming  up 
the  lane  and  called  her  in  to 
take  a  look  at  his  pet  fawn. 

"  WeU,  if  he  didn't  get  half 
a  foot  taller  since  I  saw  him 
last,"  said  the  teacher;  "if  he  keeps  on  like 
that,  Tommy,  he  will  be  a  big  deer  the  first 
thing  you  know." 

"Yes,  he's  growing,"  said  Tommy;  "but  I 
wanted  to  see  you  about  something  else.  He 
seems  to  be  sick,  and  we  do  not  know  what  to 
do  about  it." 

"Why,  he  looks  all  right  now;  what  seemed 
to  be  the  matter  with  him  ?  " 

"He  doesn't  eat,"  said  Tommy,  "and  he  up- 
set his  water  dish  when  I  tried  to  make  him 
drink.  I  went  up  on  the  hill  to  get  him  the 
best  grass  I  could  find,  but  it's  no  use ;  he  must 
be  sick." 

"Let  me  see  that  grass,"  said  the  teacher. 
"I  thought  so,"  she  laughed,  when  Tommy 
took  her  to  the  fawn's  fodder  corner;  "you  got 
a  lot  of  wormwood  leaves  mixed  up  with  the 
grass,  and  one  of  the  leaves  got  in  that  water 
dish." 

Tommy  stared.  "Oh!  maybe  that's  the 
reason  he  upset  his  water,"  he  burst  out;  "but 
I  had  no  idea  that  would  make  any  difference. 
What  makes  him  so  very  particular  about  a 
few  leaves,  I  wonder?" 


HOW    THE    DEER    KNEW. 


"  You  will  know  if  you  taste  them,"  said  the 
teacher ;  "  and  maybe  your  fawn  wanted  to  get 
even  with  you  for  teaching  him  to  jump  through 
a  hoop." 

"Why,  he  seems  to  like  that,"  laughed 
Tommy. 

"That's  just  what  I  mean,"  said  the  teacher; 
"  he  felt  so  much  obliged  to  you  and  wanted  to 
pay  you  back  —  by  teaching  you  a  good  lesson. 
An  animal,  you  see,  won't  touch  any  bad-tast- 
ing food  if  it  is  in  good  health,  and  if  you  give 
it  the  wrong  kind  of  drink  it  doesn't  mind  its 
thirst,  but  waits  till  it  gets  something  better. 
And  that's  an  answer  to  the  question  you  asked 
me  a  few  weeks  ago,  when  you  wanted  to  know 
how  people  could  help  getting  fond  of  drinks 
that  make  them  drunk  and  sick.  They  should 
let  such  stuff  alone  altogether,  if  they  find  out 
it  does  not  taste  right  at  first.  You  found  out 
something  about  that  yourself,  didn't  you?" 

"About  what — the  ugly  taste  of  bad  drinks, 
you  mean  ?  " 

"Yes;  don't  you  remember  what  you  told 
me  about  that  hotel  where  you  got  thirsty,  and 
tried  a  glass  of  something  you  thought  was 
lemonade,  and  found  it  was  beer?" 

"  O,  yes !  I  remember,"  laughed  Tommy ;  "  I 
never  tasted  anything  worse  in  my  life.  I  don't 
see  how  in  the  world  people  can  get  fond  of 
such  stuff." 

"That's  just  it,"  said  the  teacher;  "they 
should  do  as  your  little  deer  did  this  afternoon, 
and  never  meddle  with  a  drink  that  tastes  very 
bad  the  first  time  they  try  it,  unless  they 
should  be  sick  and  need  a  bitter  medicine  for 
particular  purposes.  If  a  healthy  person  should 
try  to  drink  big  glasses  full  of  ugly  medicine 
just  for  fun  every  day  he  would  soon  be  sick, 
and  few  medicines  taste  as  bad  as  some  of  the 
drinks  so  many  people  get  drunk  on." 

"Cod-liver  oil  doesn't,  nor  herb  tea,"  said 
Tommy.  "I  tried  them,  and  know  they  are 
not  half  as  ugly  as  beer.  And  they  say  beer 
isn't  the  worst  yet,"  he  added;  "there  are 
drinks  that  taste  like  burning  fire,  if  you  get  a 
drop  on  your  tongue.  I  don't  see  how  in  the 
world  anybody  can  get  fond  of  such  stuff." 

"  Let  me  tell  you,"  said  the  teacher.  "  The 
first  time  they  try  it  they  cannot  help  disliking 


it,  and  they  should  take  the  hint  to  let  it  alone 
altogether.  But  if  they  keep  drinking  it  in 
spite  of  their  horror,  it  will  lead  to  a  very 
strange  result.  Their  nature  gradually  gets 
changed,  till  a  time  comes  when  they  cannot  do 
without  a  drink  that  made  them  shudder  when 
they  tasted  it  first.  It  is  that  way  with  beer 
and  brandy,  and  even  with  a  drink  made  of 
that  very  wormwood  that  would  have  made  your 
deer  sick  if  it  had  eaten  it.  Just  rub  one  of 
those  leaves  between  your  fingers,  and  then  put 
the  tip  of  your  finger  to  your  tongue.  That  is 
just  exactly  the  taste  of  a  stuff  called  absinthe, 
and  brandy  and  strong  beer  are  almost  as  bad." 

"You  say  people  get  fond  of  it  if  they  drink 
it  again  and  again,"  mused  Tommy,  "but  what 
makes  them  do  that,  I  wonder?  What  makes 
them  try  it  at  all  ?  " 

"They  see  other  people  do  it,"  said  the 
teacher,  "and  so  they  try  it  themselves,  and 
keep  on  trying,  because  they  think  Mr.  So-and- 
so  ought  to  know  better  than  nature.  Their 
own  nature  warns  them  against  it,  but  they  do 
not  mind  that  warning,  and  keep  on  till  it  is  too 
late  to  turn  back.  Now  you  might  ask  me  to 
tell  you  who  first  took  it  in  his  head  to  make 
himself  sick  with  such  a  foolish  habit.  That 
seems  a  puzzle,  indeed,  but  it  has  been  ex- 
plained in  this  way.  Before  people  drank  wine 
they  drank  the  fresh  juice  of  grapes  —  "must," 
as  they  call  it — and  probably  tried  to  keep 
some  of  it  in  bottles  and  jars.  Now  in  warm 
weather  sweet  juices  of  that  sort  are  very  apt 
to  spoil  —  they  ferment,  as  it  is  called,  and 
their  pleasant  taste  becomes  sharp  and  disa- 
greeable. Some  stingy  housekeeper  in  old 
times  may  have  forced  his  servants  to  drink 
that  spoiled  stuff  rather  than  throw  it  away, 
and  after  a  while  they  got  fond  of  it,  and  the 
foolish  habit  spread  all  over  the  country.  Now 
wine  is  nothing  but  fermented  or  spoiled  must. 
Beer  is  fermented  barley  water.  They  let  bar- 
ley get  soaked  in  water,  and  then  mix  it  and 
stir  till  it  gets  that  sharp  taste  that  made  you 
sick  when  you  tried  it  by  mistake  in  that  sum- 
mer hotel  last  year." 

' '  Yes ;  and  on  that  same  trip  I  once  got  in 
the  wrong  railway  car,"  said  Tommy,  "and 
that  car  was  full  of  tobacco  smoke  enough  to 


SHE'S     SUCH     A     DARLING! 


SHE'S  SUCH  A  DAKLING  ! 


SOMETHING     FOK     MAMMA. 


make  my  little  brother  cry,  and  I  thought  it 
would  choke  me  before  the  train  stopped  and 
we  got  back  in  the  right  car.  I  know  a  boy 
who  got  so  sick  he  had  to  go  to  bed  when  he 
first  tried  to  smoke ;  but  I  am  sure  I  shall  never 
try  it  at  all." 

"That's  right,  Tommy;  let  such  things  alone 
altogether,"  said  the  teacher.  "It's  very  easy 
never  to  begin,  but  if  you  should  get  fond  of 
such  bad  habits  you  might  find  it  hard  to  get 
rid  of  them." 

"I  have  a  book  about  travels,"  said  Tommy, 
"  and  I  read  that  the  American  Indians  first 
taught  white  men  to  smoke.  One  of  my  cousins 
has  been  in  Mexico,  and  when  I  asked  him  what 
made  the  Indians  so  fond  of  tobacco  smoke,  he 
said  they  first  used  it  to  drive  mosquitoes  out 
of  their  cabins.  They  burn  tobacco  leaves  on 
a  hot  pan,  and  the  gnats  all  fly  out  of  the 
window." 

"I  should  not  wonder,"  laughed  the  teacher; 
"  and  that  would  show  that  mosquitoes  have 
more  sense  than  those  Indians." 

FELIX  L.  OSWALD. 


SOMETHING  FOR  MAMMA. 

GET  the  idea  and  most  of  the 
details  from  Harper's  Bazar. 
The  article  from  which  they 
are  taken  says  the  contrivance 
is  for  an  invalid,  but  let  me 
assure  you  that  mamma  will 
like  it  very  much,  or,  for  the  matter  of  that, 
papa  also,  though  they  have  not  thought  of  be- 
ing invalids. 

First,  contrive  to  get  a  nice  pine  board  about 
twenty-five  inches  long  and  twenty-one  wide  (if 
you  are  making  it  for  me  I  should  like  the  board 
a  little  narrower,  but  perhaps  mamma  might 
not)  ;  cover  it  with  felt  of  any  color  you  please 
—  perhaps  it  would  be  well  to  have  in  mind  the 
furniture  in  the  room  where  it  is  chiefly  to  live, 
and  secure  a  color  which  will  harmonize,  or  at 
least  not  "  fight,"  with  the  prevailing  color 
there. 

Perhaps,  however,  you  will  be  in  the  condi- 
tion in  which  I  have  sometimes  found  myself ; 


namely,  with  a  piece  of  felt  of  a  certain  color 
which  obstinately  refuses  to  turn  into  another, 
no  matter  how  much  I  might  desire  it ;  in  that 
case,  if  I  were  you  I  would  go  right  ahead  with 
my  present ;  I  feel  sure  mamma  will  find  it  use- 
ful, even  though  it  is  not  just  the  shade  which 
you  and  she  like  best.  The  same  remarks  will 
apply  to  material.  I  have  used  cretonne,  or 
even  calico,  where  I  would  have  preferred  felt 
if  I  could  have  got  it.  Well,  we  will  pretend 
to  cover  this  pine  board  with  felt ;  we  will  have 
the  felt  so  long  and  wide  that  it  will  reach  say 
for  six  inches  or  so  below  the  board  at  both 
ends,  and  on  the  front  side.  Then  make  neat 
little  pockets  for  these  ends  and  side,  with  a 
flap  to  button  down  over  them  when  desired. 
These  are  to  hold  letters,  envelopes,  bits  of 
poetry,  scraps  of  prose,  recipes,  in  fact  any- 
thing which  mamma  desires  to  have  convenient 
when  she  sits  down  to  write.  If  mamma  uses 
a  fountain  pen  I  think  she  will  like  exceedingly 
a  little  narrow  pocket,  just  wide  enough  for  her 
pen  to  slip  in  easily,  and  just  deep  enough  for 
it  to  stand  upright  and  put  its  head  out  for  her 
to  get  hold  of.  If  she  does  not,  a  ' '  traveler's 
inkstand,"  leather  covered,  may  be  glued  at  the 
right  end  of  the  board ;  it  has  a  ' '  spring  "  cover, 
you  will  remember,  and  takes  faithful  care  of 
the  ink  when  closed.  A  stamp  box  of  wood  or 
paper  may  be  glued  at  the  other  end. 

'What  a  delightful  present  that  will  be  when 
you  get  it  done!  I  am  sure  "mamma "will 
appreciate  and  enjoy  it.  The  Bazar  says  a 
row  of  brass-headed  nails  should  be  driven  all 
around  the  edges  of  the  board,  I  suppose  to 
hold  the  felt  firmly  in  place ;  but  a  little  girl 
who  had  no  brass  nails  could  very  easily  sew 
her  felt  or  cretonne  or  calico  around  the  under 
side  of  the  board,  and  make  her  pockets  sepa- 
rately, sewing  them  firmly  to  their  places,  if  she 
wished. 

In  fact,  there  is  room  in  this  device  for  many 
changes  and  improvements.  I  can  imagine 
an  ingenious  girl  or  boy  —  or  perhaps  it  would 
be  better  to  say  girl  and  boy  —  putting  their 
heads  together,  and  making  many  variations 
which  would  be  a  comfort  to  the  fortunate 
owner.  Try  it,  and  let  me  know  the  result. 

PANSY. 


SHE   STRUGGLED   WITH   THE    SLEbVES. 


NANNIE'S     THANKSGIVING. 


NANNIE'S   THANKSGIVING. 

T  was  very  early  in  the  morn- 
ing ;  earlier,  in  fact,  than  Nan- 
nie was  in  the  habit  of  being 
up ;  but  on  account  of  Thanks- 
giving Day,  and  the  fact  that 
they  were  all  going,  to  Aunt 
Cornelia's  to  dinner,  Nannie  thought  she  ought 
to  be  on  hand  early.  She  was  waiting  for 
mamma  to  give  her  her  bath,  and  sat  down  to 
pet  Rosamond  Catherine  Lorinda  in  the  mean- 
time. The  middle  name,  Catherine,  was  in 
honor  of  Grandma  Patterson,  but  Nannie  did 
not  like  it  very  well,  and  felt  obliged  to  place 
it  between  two  names  which  she  called  "deli- 
cious," in  order  to  tolerate  it.  A  bright  thought 
occurred  to  her ;  she  might  dress  the  child  for 
the  Thanksgiving  dinner  while  she  waited.  It 
was  while  she  struggled  with  the  sleeve  which 
did  not  want  to  go  on  that  the  thought  came 
which  caused  all  her  trouble. 

"This  sleeve  is  too  small,"  she  said;  "I 
b'lieve  my  child's  arm  must  have  grown  a  great 
deal  since  she  wore  this  dress  before ;  she  ought 
to  have  had  a  new  dress  for  Thanksgiving ;  she 
would  look  sweet  in  a  white  embroidered  one 
trimmed  with  lace."  Just  then  the  baby  in  the 
willow  cradle  at  her  side  nestled  in  his  sleep, 
and  Nannie  turned  and  looked  at  him. 

"If  Rosamond  Catherine  Lorinda  only  had 
one  dress  like  what  Teddy  has  so  many  of,  I 
should  be  too  perfectly  happy,"  she  said.  "Just 
think,  I  b'lieve  he  has  as  many  as  'leven  or 
eight !  Mamma  might  borrow  me  one  just  for 
to-day ;  it  would  be  too  long,  but  I  could  cut  it 
off  at  the  bottom ;  it  would  be  just  as  easy  to 
sew  it  on  again  when  Teddy  needed  it ;  and  the 
sleeves  I  could  loop  up  with  pink  ribbons,  and 
she  would  look  too  perfectly  sweet !  " 

The  more  she  thought  about  it,  the  more  the 
longing  grew ;  at  last  it  began  to  seem  a  posi- 
tive injustice  that  Teddy  should  have  so  many 
clothes  and  not  be  willing  to  lend  any  to  Rosa- 
mond Catherine  Lorinda.  "I  know  he  would, 
if  he  understood,"  said  Nannie,  looking  approv- 
ingly upon  the  sleeping  baby;  "he  loves  my 
Rosamond,  and  kisses  her  just  as  cunning ! 
And  he  has  such  a  perfectly  lovely  lot  of 


dresses !  I  just  mean  to  look  in  the  bruro 
drawer  and  count  them."  Saying  which,  she 
tiptoed  toward  the  bureau  behind  the  cradle, 
and  opened  the  second  drawer.  To  be  sure  she 
was  barefooted,  and  could  not  have  made  much 
noise ;  besides,  if  she  was  doing  right  why 
should  she  care  if  her  footsteps  were  heard? 
Nevertheless,  she  instinctively  tiptoed  along, 
and  opened  the  drawer  as  softly  as  she  could ; 
and  it  was  not  for  fear  of  waking  Teddy,  either. 

There  lay  the  dresses  in  a  fluffy  white  heap ; 
on  the  top  was  the  one  which  Nannie  most 
coveted. 

"  Teddy  hardly  ever  wears  it,"  she  said  reas- 
suringly, as  she  drew  it  out ;  "I  guess  mamma 
doesn't  like  it  very  much  or  she  would  put  it  on 
him  oftener ;  and  Rosamond  Catherine  will  look 
too  perfectly  sweet  for  anything-  in  it.  I  am 
most  sure  mamma  would  not  care.  I  could  cut 
it  off  right  through  all  those  little  embroidery 
holes,  then  Grandma  could  sew  them  together 
again  just  as  easy." 

I  grieve  to  tell  you  that  she  did  exactly  that 
dreadful  thing.  Not  immediately ;  she  resolved 
to  try  the  dress  on  first,  and  see  if  it  would  do ; 
and  despite  the  fact  that  the  waist  was  many 
times  too  large,  and  the  limp  arms  were  alto- 
gether lost  in  the  sleeves,  the  waxen-haired 
beauty  looked  so  enchanting  to  her  mother's 
eyes,  under  those  billows  of  white,  that  in  a 
very  short  space  of  time  the  shining  shears  were 
making  a  long,  crooked  line  through  the  costly 
embroidery  with  which  Teddy's  best  dress  was 
trimmed. 

O,  me !  the  troubles  which  in  this  way  were 
stored  up  for  naughty,  foolish  Nannie.  They 
began  almost  immediately ;  for  despite  the  fact 
that  Nannie  had  coaxed  herself  into  the  fancy 
that  there  was  no  harm  in  what  she  did,  she 
found  she  was  not  willing  to  have  her  mother 
know  about  it,  and  crumpled  the  elegant  dress 
into  a  small  bundle  and  thrust  it  under  the  great 
rug  at  her  feet  when  she  heard  her  mother's 
footsteps.  All  through  the  breakfast  hour,  and 
even  at  family  worship,  she  was  engaged  in 
planning  how  she  should  get  Rosamond  Cathe- 
rine Lorinda  dressed  and  wrapped  in  her  trav- 
eling cloak  without  any  one  having  seen  her ; 
for  fond  as  she  was  of  exhibiting  the  beauty, 


NANNIE'S     THANKSGIVING. 


she  found  that  to-day  she  would  rather  her 
charms  were  hidden  from  all  eyes. 

She  was  still  planning  ways  and  means  when 
the  discovery  came.  She  was  not  prepared  for 
it,  because  when  Teddy  had  so  many  dresses, 
how  could  she  suppose  that  when  her  mother 
opened  the  drawer  to  select  one  she  would  ex- 
claim, "Why,  what  has  become  of  his  dress? 
I  laid  it  on  top  so  as  to  get  it  without  disturbing 
the  others." 

A  good  deal  of  talk  followed.  Papa  sug- 
gested that  she  had  laid  it  in  some  other  drawer, 
and  Aunt  Laura  said  perhaps  Grandma  had 
taken  it  to  set  a  stitch  in;  and  Grandma  af- 
firmed that  she  had  not,  and  asked  what  Nannie 
was  longing  to:  "Why  don't  you  take  one  of 
the  others,  daughter,  and  get  the  little  fellow 
ready  while  he  is  good-natured  ?  " 

"Well,  but  where  can  it  be?"  asked  the  puz- 
zled mother,  closing  the  drawer.  ' '  I  am  sure  I 
laid  it  here,  on  the  top.  I  wanted  Adelaide  to 
see  him  in  that  dress,  because  she  sent  me  the 
embroidery  for  it,  you  know,  and  it  is  more 
expensive  than  any  I  should  have  bought." 

Nannie  caught  her  breath  nervously  over  this ; 
she  had  not  supposed  the  embroidery  was  so 
choice ;  she  might  just  as  well  have  taken  one 
of  the  other  dresses  if  she  had  only  known. 

Just  at  that  moment  Susan,  who  was  bustling 
about,  packing  Teddy's  traveling  bag,  stooped 
down  and  pulled  at  something  white  under  the 
rug,  as  she  said,  "Shall  I  put  in  some  play- 
things, Mrs.  Walters?  Why,  what's  this?" 

What  was  it,  sure  enough,  but  the  lost  dress 
cut  in  two,  in  a  fearful  zigzag  manner,  directly 
through  the  costly  embroidery !  Can  you  im- 
agine what  followed?  I  am  sure  you  will  not 
be  surprised  to  learn  that  poor,  naughty  little 
Nannie  had  a  whipping  then  and  there.  Her 
mother  did  not  even  wait  for  Susan  to  leave  the 
room,  as  she  generally  did  before  punishing  any 
of  her  children.  It  is  true  the  whipping  was 
not  very  severe,  for  Mrs.  Walters  was  never 
severe ;  but  the  disgrace  of  it  was  terrible,  for 
Nannie  was  very  rarely  whipped. 

However,  this  was  by  no  means  the  worst  of 
her  troubles ;  behold,  mamma  declared  that  she 
could  not  go  to  the  Thanksgiving  dinner,  but 
must  stay  at  home  with  Susan  and  the  cat. 


Now  when  you  reflect  that  they  were  to  ride 
four  miles  in  a  beautiful  sleigh  drawn  by  two 
prancing  horses,  and  meet  a  baker's  dozen  of 
little  cousins,  some  of  whom  Nannie  had  never 
seen,  to  say  nothing  of  the  delights  of  the 
Thanksgiving  dinner,  and  the  little  pies  with 
their  names  on,  done  in  sugar  plums,  -which 
were  to  be  ready  for  each  cousin,  I  am  sure 
you  will  feel  with  Nannie  that  her  punishment 
was  greater  than  she  could  bear.  In  truth,  the 
others  thought  so.  Papa  said,  "  My  dear, 
couldn't  you  reconsider,  somehow  ? "  Aunt 
Laura  said,  ' '  Jennie,  I  think  you  are  horrid !  " 
And  even  Susan  ventured  to  say,  "I  don't 
think  she  knew  it  was  his  best  dress,  ma'am ; 
and  she  says  Grandma  can  sew  it  together,  poor 
little  heart."  But  Mrs.  Walters  was  very  firm. 
She  did  not  deign  to  answer  Laura  or  Susan, 
but  said  to  her  husband,  "Richard,  I  don't 
know  how  I  can  change,  now.  I  said  she 
couldn't,  and  you  know  I  ought  to  keep  my 
word.  Besides,  the  child  needs  a  serious  les- 
son ;  it  is  quite  as  hard  for  me,  I  think,  as  for 
her,"  and  the  mother's  lip  quivered  a  little. 
Then  the  father  said  soothingly,  that  of  course 
he  knew  she  was  doing  it  for  Nannie's  best 
good,  and  he  could  trust  her  judgment  where 
he  couldn't  his  own.  But  Aunt  Laura  remained 
indignant,  and  the  whole  household  was  in 
trouble.  "  Our  Thanksgiving  is  spoiled,"  said 
Aunt  Laura ;  "I've  a  good  mind  not  to  go." 

Meantime,  Grandma  said  not  a  word.  It 
was  nearly  an  hour  afterwards,  and  the  prepa- 
rations for  starting,  which  had  gone  on  much 
more  silently,  were  almost  completed,  when 
Grandma  opened  the  door  of  Mrs.  Walters' 
room,  dressed  in  her  best  black  silk,  with  her 
beautiful  white  satin  hair  peeping  out  from  un- 
der the  soft  laces  of  her  best  cap,  and  holding 
by  the  hand  a  little  girl  with  very  red  eyes,  and 
a  red  nose,  who  kept  up  a  suspicious  little  sniff- 
ing, as  though  it  was  only  by  great  effort  she 
refrained  from  bursting  into  fresh  tears.  Grand- 
ma walked  straight  toward  her  daughter,  and 
said,  "Mamma,  we  have  come  to  ask  you  if 
you  will  not  forgive  poor  little  Nannie,  who  is 
very  sorry,  and  let  her  go  to-day,  for  Grandma's 
sake — not  for  hers  at  all,  but  for  Grandma's." 

And  the  handsome  mother,  with  a  sudden 


PAPA'S     CHOICE.  — NOVEMBER. 


glad  light  flashing  in  her  gray  eyes,  stooped 
and  kissed  the  cheek  of  her  sweet  old  mother, 
and  then  of  her  own  little  daughter,  as  she  said, 
"  Dear  mother,  you  know  what  you  ask  for  your 
own  sake  I  could  certainly  never  refuse." 

The  years  have  rolled  on  since  then,  enough 
of  them  to  make  little  Nannie  twenty-six,  and 
the  mother  of  one  Rosamond,  who  has  golden 
hair  like  the  dollie,  her  namesake,  but  who  is 
mischievous,  as  Rosamond  of  old  never  was. 
And  I  heard  the  sweet  mother  say,  last  Thanks- 
giving morning,  after  having  told  this  story  of 
her  past  for  the  benefit  of  some  young  mothers, 
"I  am  thankful  for  two  things:  that  I  had  a 
mother  who  taught  me  that  wrong-doing  must 
bring  unhappiness,  not  only  to  myself,  but  to 
others ;  and  that  I  had  a  dear  Grandmother  who 
taught  me  what  it  was  to  have  a  powerful  friend 
to  come  between  me  and  Justice,  and  say,  "For 
my  sake."  PANSY. 


PAPA'S   CHOICE. 

HERE  stands  my  baby, 
On  two  little  feet ; 
"With  her  bushy  brown  head, 
And  her  dimples  so  sweet. 

Her  arms  are  all  ready 

To  give  me  a  hug ; 
So  give  me  my  baby, 

And  you  keep  your  pug. 


NOVEMBER. 

~YlT~rHAT  is  thy  mission,  November, 

VV        Thou  link  'twixt  the  living  and  dead? 
What  message  would'st  have  us  remember, 
Writ  on  thy  dried  leaves,  to  be  read 
As  lessons  to  youth  and  to  age, 
To  the  simple,  the  student,  the  sage? 

Stern  duty,  thy  scepter  of  power, 
The  husbandman  readily  sees ; 
And  takes  up  the  tasks  of  the  hour 

As  the  limbs  bear  the  buds  on  the  trees ; 
For  he  sows  not,  ploughs  not,  nor  reaps ; 
He  laughs  not,  he  frowns  not,  nor  weeps. 

The  frosts,  without  cost,  starch  the  ground ; 

Spread  a  mirror  o'er  river  and  lakes ; 
While  nuts  scattered  thickly  around, 
More  treasured  than  apples  and  cakes, 
The  children  may  gather  with  ease, 
With  the  squirrels  which  hide  in  the  trees. 

The  apples  are  now  in  the  bins, 

The  pumpkins  upon  the  barn  floor, 
Save  those  which,  bereft  of  their  skins, 
Hang  to  dry  on  the  biggest  barn  door ; 

The  banking's  high  piled  'gainst  the  house, 
To  keep  it  as  snug  as  a  mouse. 

Thou  wast  wisely  ordained  for  man, 

For  time  was  much  needed,  we  see, 
In  which  for  cold  winter  to  plan, 

And  prepare  for  the  storms  which  must  be  ; 
So,  while  few  may  sing  of  thy  praise, 
We  will  welcome  and  treasure  thy  days. 

Not  all  the  best  things  of  this  grand  old  earth, 

Not  all  the  hours  of  the  year  around, 
Are  welcomed  here  with  the  songs  of  mirth, 
Nor  in  fields  of  pleasure  are  ever  found, 
For  cloudy  are  the  days  of  welcome  rain, 
And  sharp  the  sickle  for  the  golden  grain. 

G.  R.  A. 


II. 


THE    soul    that    perpetually   overflows   with 
kindness  and  sympathy  will  always  be  cheerful. 


NOVEMBER. 


NOVEMBER. 


BABY'S     CORNER. 


BABY'S   CORNER. 

WHAT    MADE   BABY    LAUGH? 

ABY  DALE'S  mamma  had  a 
great  many  pictures  of  her 
little  boy,  but  they  were  not 
pretty. 

The  trouble  was,  he  would 
aot  sit  still  even  for  one  little  minute.  He  was 
always  jumping  or  clapping  his  fat  hands,  or 
saying  "  Baa,  baa !  " 

One  of  his  pictures  had  three  eyes,  and  one 
bad  no  nose. 

One  funny  one  had  his  mouth  wide  open  like 
a  big  O,  for  he  was  crying. 

And  there  was  one  where  he  had  his  mouth 
shut,  but  he  looked  very  cross.  He  had  a 
frown  between  his  eyes.  Mamma  said  she 
would  not  know  it  was  her  sunny  boy. 

But  by  and  by  a  man  came  who  could  take 
pictures  whether  babies  kept  still  or  not. 

One  day  little  Dale  was  in  his  high  chair  by 
the  window.  Outdoors  it  was  snowing. 

Baby  thought  the  snowflakes  were  pretty 
white  feathers  coming  down  from  the  sky. 
Mamma  and  he  played  with  a  feather  once  that 
came  out  of  his  pillow.  It  was  nice. 

Such  a  lot  of  feathers !  They  made  pretty 
white  caps  on  the  fence  posts.  And  there  were 
great  heaps  of  them  on  the  ground ! 

"Some  day,"  thought  Baby,  "I  will  go  out 
that  door,  and  I  will  creep  right  down  the  steps, 
and  I  will  go  to  that  big  pile  of  feathers,  and  I 
will  get  my  hand  full,  and  I  ^will  throw  them 
away  up,  up,  back  into  the  sky !  " 

Then  baby  laughed,  and  the  man  who  had 
come  to  take  his  picture  touched  a  button  on 
a  queer  little  box  he  had,  and  there  was  Baby 
just  as  you  see  him. 

That  is  how  Baby  Dale  came  to  have  a  pict- 
are  that  mamma  loved. 


All  the  aunties,  when  they  saw  it,  said,  ' '  Oh ! 
how  sweet." 

Mamma  sent  a  picture  to  the  grandma  down 
in  Flor-i-da,  and  one  to  the  grandma  up  in 
Maine.  One  went  over  the  ocean  to  Uncle 


"l   WILL  GET    MY  HAND  FULL." 

John  who  loves  Baby  Dale  very  dearly.  One 
went  out  West  to  Auntie  Lou,  and  one  went 
to  Boston,  to  be  printed  for  you. 

MRS.  C.  M.  LIVINGSTON. 


QjOMETIMES  in  the  early  springtime, 

The  sunbeams  floating  'round 
Are  caught  out  in  the  showers, 
And  are  washed  into  the  ground. 

But,  ere  the  summer's  over, 

They  take  root  in  the  sod, 
And  grow  up  with  fresh  brightness 

In  the  form  of  Golden  Rod. 

—  Selected. 


LORI'S     SERMON. 


LORA'S    SERMON. 


T  was  Sunday  morning,  and  all 
the  family  except  Lora  and  her 
mother  had  gone  to  church. 
As  a  rule  they,  or  at  least 
Lora,  were  the  first  to  be  tucked 
into  the  sleigh;  but  on  this 
particular  morning  Mrs.  Wheeler  had  said  she 
was  not  going  ;  that  she  had  a  little  cold,  she  be- 
lieved, and  was  "all  tuckered  out"  with  the 
week's  work,  and  just  in  condition  to  get  more 
cold  very  easily ;  and  Lora's  coat  did  look  too 
ridiculous  to  wear  to  church,  so  she  had  better 
stay  at  home  with  her. 

"By  next  Sunday  you  will  have  your  new 
coat,"  she  said,  to  console  the  child,  "and  be 
all  in  order  for  church  for  the  rest  of  the  winter." 
Lora  looked  sober  for  a  few  minutes  ;  she  was 
very  fond  of  riding  to  church  tucked  in  among 
the  great  soft  robes,  and  she  did  not  mind  the 
service  so  very  much,  though  the  sermon  was 
pretty  long.  However,  she  was  naturally  a 
sunny  little  girl,  and  her  face  soon  cleared  as 
she  buttoned  her  somewhat  shabby  coat,  and 
went  out  to  watch  the  snowbirds,  who  were 
gathering  in  great  numbers  near  the  barn  doors. 
Lora  and  the  snowbirds  were  friends  ;  indeed 
she  made  friends  with  all  sorts  of  dumb  animals, 
and  had  queer  little  ideas  about  them. 

"You  will  fall,"  she  said  gravely,  addressing 
a  fat  bird  who  swung  on  a  tiny  branch  almost 
at  her  side  ;  "  you  have  picked  out  a  very  slimsy 
branch  ;  it  looks  as  though  it  was  almost  broked 
off ;  maybe  it  will  break  while  y$u  are  swinging 
on  it  —  I  most  know  it  will  —  then  you  will  fall 
down  in  the  snow  and  hurt  yourself.  I  failed 
off  of  a  limb  once,  and  it  hurted." 

The  bird  paid  not  the  slightest  attention  to 
this  friendly  warning,  but  Lora  continued  to 
stand  still,  looking  at  the  swaying  bush,  her 
face  full  of  earnest  thought.  She  had  already 
turned  from  the  bird,  and  was  thinking  about 
the  verse  sister  Nannie  had  taught  her  that 
morning.  It  was  a  long  verse  for  a  little  girl, 
with  some  hard  words  in  it ;  but  Lora  had  mas- 
tered them,  and  said  them  over  in  her  mind, 
revolving,  meanwhile,  the  explanation  which 
Nannie  had  made  of  them.  "  If  a  man  abide 


not  in  me  he  is  cast  forth  as  a  branch,  and  is 
withered."  "Branches  do  wiwer  as  soon  as 
they  are  broked  off,"  said  Lora.  "I've  seen 
them;  and  papa  and  Moses  burn  them  up  — 
that  is  what  it  said. 

"This  stick  is  broked  off,"  she  continued, 
carefully  examining  the  one  which  she  grasped 
with  both  chubby  hands ;  "it  used  to  grow,  but 
it  won't  ever  any  more.  All  the  leaves  have 
wiwered  off  it,  and  some  day  it  will  get  burned 
up,  I  s'pose ;  it  isn't  good  for  much." 

Words  stopped  just  here,  but  that  little  Lora's 
brain  went  on  with  the  great  thoughts  which 
she  could  not  express,  was  evident  from  the 
look  on  her  face.  The  Bible  verse  and  Nannie's 
careful  explanation  of  it  had  taken  deep  root  in 
her  heart.  She  went  into  the  house  presently ; 
the  thoughts  had  grown  so  large  that  she  felt 
as  though  she  must  ask  some  more  questions. 

As  a  usual  thing,  Sunday  quiet  reigned  in 
Mrs.  Wheeler's  kitchen  at  this  hour  of  the  day. 
But  this  day  was  an  exception.  Mrs.  Wheeler, 
bustling  about  doing  up  the  last  things  con- 
nected with  the  morning  work,  had  come  across 
a  bowl  of  mince  meat  and  a  lump  of  dough  evi- 
dently left  from  pie  crust.  "I  declare  for  it !  " 
she  exclaimed,  ' '  I  thought  Kate  made  up  all 
the  pies  yesterday.  What  a  careless  thing,  to 
leave  this  bowl  of  mince  meat  here  over  Sunday  ! 
It  would  make  two  good  pies,  and  if  all  the 
folks  come  for  Thanksgiving  we  may  fall  short ; 
they  set  such  store  by  my  pies.  I  wonder  what 
Kate  was  about  ?  It  must  have  got  dark  before 
she  finished.  These  must  be  made  up  the  first 
thing  to-morrow  —  but  there  is  pretty  near  every- 
thing to  do  to-morrow,  too ;  it  makes  a  great 
deal  of  work  getting  ready  for  such  a  house 
full ;  and  pie  crust  is  none  the  better  for  stand- 
ing, either ;  I  declare,  I've  a  mind  to  slap  this 
on  to  a  couple  of  tins  and  set  them  in  the  oven ; 
there  is  fire  enough  to  bake  them  nicely,  and  it 
won't  take  five  minutes,  hardly,  and  there  are 
so  many  ways  to  turn  to-morrow." 

There  were  more  thoughts  about  it  not  put 
into  words,  but  it  ended  in  the  moulding  board 
being  spread  out  on  the  table,  and  the  flour  jar 
and  rolling-pin  and  pastry  knife  being  laid  be- 
side it.  I  wonder  they  did  not  all  blush  for 
shame,  for  such  a  thing  had  never  happened  to 


THAT     RAINY     DAY. 


them  before  on  a  Sabbath.  Mrs.  Wheeler's 
cheeks  were  rather  red,  and  she  felt  what  she 
would  have  called  "kind  of  queer";  but  she 
flew  about  very  fast,  and  meant  to  be  soon 
seated  in  the  best  room  in  her  Sunday  dress. 

It  was  just  at  that  moment  that  Lora  pushed 
open  the  kitchen  door  and  entered,  her  eyes 
large  with  the  thoughts  about  which  she  wanted 
to  question.  They  grew  larger  as  she  took  in 
the  situation.  Her  mother  rolling  out  pie  crust ! 
And  it  was  Sunday !  Such  a  thing  had  never 
happened  in  Lora's  experience.  Nobody  knows 
why  the  queer  little  brain  put  together  the 
thoughts  which  had  come  to  her  outside,  and  the 
pie  crust  in  the  kitchen ;  but  it  did,  and  there 
came,  presently,  this  question :  ' '  Did  you  get 
broked  off,  muvver  ?  " 

"Did  I  what?"  said  Mrs.  Wheeler,  her 
cheeks  very  red.  There  was  something  in 
Lora's  look  and  tone  which  made  them  redder. 

"Get  broked  off.  That  is  what  Nannie  said. 
She  said  folks  that  got  broked  off  did  things 
that  Jesus  did  not  want  done-,  and  kept  doing 
them.  Does  he  want  you  to  make  pies  to-day, 
muwer  ?  " 

"  If  I  ever  saw  such  a  child!"  said  Mrs. 
Wheeler,  making  the  rolling-pin  revolve  over 
the  board  at  railroad  speed.  "What  does  Nan- 
nie mean  putting  such  notions  into  your  head  ? 
Go  into  the  other  room,  child,  and  take  off  your 
coat;  I'll  be  there  in  a  few  minutes.  I'm  not 
going  to  make  pies ;  I  shall  wad  up  this  dough 
and  keep  it  until  to-morrow." 

And  she  did. 

MYRA  SPAFFORD. 


THAT    KAINY    DAY. 

HE  Stauteubergers  were  not 
rich,  neither  were  they  poor. 
Their  house  was  not  large, 
neither  was  it  very  little ;  but 
there  was  none  too  much  room 
in  it. 

Mrs.  Stautenberger  was  dead;  had  "fallen 
asleep,"  as  the  father  called  it,  that  very 
autumn ;  so  when  he  went  to  the  shop  for  his 
day's  work,  Pauline,  the  eldest,  had  to  be  both 


sister  and  mother  to  her  three  sisters,  and  one 
little  brother. 

The  teacher  of  the  school  in  their  district  was. 
very  kind,  and  after  her  first  call  at  the  "  home 
without  a  mother,"  she  said  to  Pauline,  "Do 
not  stay  at  home  to  care  for  baby  sister ;  bring 
her  with  you,  and  we  will  manage  in  some  way. 
I  think  she  will  be  a  good  little  girl." 

Then  Pauline  felt  sure  she  should  love  the 
teacher  very  much.  When  her  father  came 
home  she  told  him  what  Miss  Gilbert  had  said, 
and  as  he  wiped  a  tear  away,  he,  too,  thought 
she  would  be  a  nice  teacher,  and  must  have  a 
good  heart  to  be  so  willing  to  help  his  mother- 
less ones. 

There  are  a  great  many  things  I  would  like 
to  tell  you  about  this  little  family  and  their 
splendid  teacher,  but  all  I  will  have  time  for 
now,  is  the  story  of  one  rainy  day,  and  what 
they  did  about  it. 

The  storm  was  so  hard  they  could  none  of 
them  venture  out ;  certainly  little  Gretchen  must 
not  be  taken  out,  so  there  seemed  a  prospect  for 
a  dull,  dreary,  lonesome  day. 

The  few  dishes  were  soon  put  away,  and  all 
were  hungry  for  school. 

"I  know  what  to  do,"  said  Pauline;  "let's 
play  school.  We  can  read  and  spell  and  make 
numbers,  and  maybe  we  can  study  geography  a 
little ;  then  when  we  go  to  school  to-morrow 
teacher  will  be  so  s'prised  to  see  how  much  we 
have  learned ;  and  then  she'll  smile,  and  maybe 
she  will  kiss  us,  every  one !  Won't  that  be 
fun?" 

She  didn't  try  to  rhyme,  but  in  her  eagerness- 
it  came  of  itself. 

So  they  had  school,  and  Metza  played  teacher, 
and  Pauline  sat  by  little  Gretchen,  and  Fritz 
and  Mary  sat  with  them  on  the  long  lounge,  and 
they  had  such  a  nice  time  they  forgot  that  it  was 
storming  outside,  and  were  much  astonished 
when  at  noon  papa  came  home  to  lunch,  and  so 
sorry  they  had  forgotten  to  heat  the  water  for 
his  coffee. 

But  when  they  told  him  what  a  nice  time  they 
had  had,  he  smiled,  and  said,  ' '  My  Pauline  has 
been  a  good  mother  to-day."  And  she  thought, 
"  I  have  the  best  papa  in  the  world." 

G.  R.  A. 


'•    __.  i 


;THIS   STICK    IS   BKUK.ED   OFF,"    SAID    LORA. 


A     SABBATH     IN     A     BOARDING-SCHOOL     IN     TURKEY. 


PERFUMED    GLOVES. 

PERFUMED  gloves  were  brought  from  Italy 
by  Edward  Vere,  Earl  of  Oxford,  after 
his  exile,  and  his  present  to  Queen  Elizabeth  of 
a  pair  with  embroidered  roses  is  mentioned  in 
history.  But  the  refinement  of  perfumed  gloves 
had  been  known  for  three  centuries  in  France 
before  the  days  of  the  Virgin  Queen,  and  in 
Spain  the  gloves  were  famous  for  the  scent  im- 
parted to  them  long  before  her  day.  The  luxu- 
rious court  of  Charles  the  Second  used  perfumed 
gloves,  aud  those  "  trimmed  and  laced  as  fine  as 


A  SABBATH  IN  A  BOARDING-SCHOOL 
IN   TURKEY. 


I. 


T  was  the  dawn  of  a  winter  morn- 
ing. Ding-dong-ding  clanged 
the  chapel  bell.  I  sprang  up 
and  began  to  dress,  while 
Marta  went  to  the  mission- 
house  for  a  cup  of  coffee.  As 
I  fastened  the  last  button,  there  was  a  rap  at 
the  door.  "  Come,"  I  called,  and  in  walked 


QUEEN    ELIZABETH   WHEN  A    PUPIL. 


Nell's,"  you  have  no  doubt  read  about.  Louis 
the  Fourteenth  also  issued  letter  patents  of  his 
' '  marchands  maitres  gantiers parfeumeurs."  In 
Venice,  where  the  love  of  dress  was  conspicu- 
ous, perfumed  gloves  Avere  introduced  by  a 
dogess  as  early  as  1075.  —  Selected. 


THAT  day  is  best  wherein  we  give 
A  thought  of  others'  sorrows ; 

Forgetting  self,  we  learn  to  live, 
And  blessings  born  of  kindly  deeds 

Make  golden  our  to-morrows. 


the  dear  little  maid  with  a  cup  of  coffee  care- 
fully covered  to  keep  in  the  steam,  and  a  roll 
done  up  in  a  napkin,  which  the  cook  had  in- 
sisted upon  her  bringing. 

Ding-dong  began  the  bell  again.  ' '  Tell  the 
girls  not  to  wait  for  me,"  I  said ;  and  soon  the 
clatter  of  many  feet  on  the  stairs  indicated 
their  departure.  The  coffee  must  be  swallowed, 
and  the  little  roll  must  not  be  wholly  neglected ; 
then  putting  on  bonnet  and  ulster,  I  started  to 
follow.  Fido,  our  little  spaniel,  was  standing 
disconsolate  in  the  hall  below.  Her  eyes  were 


A     SABBATH     IN    A     BOARDING-SCHOOL     IN     TURKEY. 


full  of  entreaty,  and  wagging  her  tail  persua- 
sively, she  accompanied  me  to  the  door. 

"Go  back,  Fido.  Can't  take  little  dogs  to 
church !  "  I  exclaimed.  She  knew  it  was  no  use 
to  tease,  and  stood  watching  me  as  I  opened 
the  heavy  door  with  difficulty,  and  slammed  it 
after  me  —  it  would  not  latch  unless  slammed. 
As  I  reached  the  church  door,  I  heard  the  organ 
—  that  meant  the  service  had  begun,  and  I  was 
late !  something  I  never  meant  to  be,  but  this 
was  so  early  to  go  to  church !  The  Armenians 
are  all  accustomed  in  the  Gregorian  Church  to 
a  service  even  earlier,  and  when  they  become 
Protestant,  or  Evangelical,  they  still  cling  to  the 
old  way  of  making  worship  the  first  thing  in  the 
morning,  and  giving  breakfast  the  second  place. 

Instead,  then,  of  going  up  the  men's  aisle, 
and  sitting  at  the  further  end  where  we  mis- 
sionaries usually  do,  I  went  on  to  the  door  at 
the  left  —  the  women's  —  and  slipped  into  a 
back  seat.  A  little  girl  just  in  front  of  me 
passed  me  her  hymn  book,  so  that  I  could  join 
with  the  congregation  in  singing  "  Garode  yem, 
voh  garode  yem"  — "I  need  Thee,  O,  I  need 
Thee."  Just  as  the  hymn  closed,  the  sun's  rays 
struck  the  eastern  window  and  streamed  in ; 
then  the  preacher  arose  and  read  the  epistle  to 
Philemon,  and  also  1  Cor.  vii.  22. 

The  benediction  was  pronounced,  and  the 
congregation  slowly  streamed  out.  The  walk 
from  the  chapel  to  the  street  is  narrow,  and  as 
it  is  not  proper  for  women  to  crowd  in  among 
the  men,  we  waited  till  they  had  mostly  passed 
on.  While  standing  outside,  Shushan,  one  of 
our  day  pupils,  came  along  with  her  mother; 
both  were  completely  enveloped  in  the  white 
crapy  wrap  which  is  worn  by  the  Armenian 
women  in  this  section.  Shushan's  bright-col- 
ored dress  showed  through,  and  at  the  same 
time  set  off  the  figure  in  the  wrap. 

"  Par-ee  loo-is,  Shushan ;  are  you  of  the  same 
mind  as  yesterday  about  going  to  Kozloo  ?  " 

She  returned  my  good-morning,  and  said  she 
was ;  yes,  indeed ! 

"Why  should  we  change  our  minds?"  said 
her  mother.  "Are  we  not  also  Christ's  ser- 
vants ? "  referring  to  the  sermon  we  had  just 
heard. 

You  see,  Shushan's  brother  was  bitterly  op- 


posed to  her  going  away  to  teach,  and  I  thought 
it  quite  possible  that  he  had  influenced  her  to 
give  it  up.  It  was  years  after  girls'  schools 
were  opened  before  people  were  willing  to  send 
their  children  to  a  woman  teacher  —  I  mean  a 
native  —  still  worse  if  she  was  "only  a  girl." 
They  would  far  rather  send  them  to  a  man, 
however  ignorant  and  incapable.  That  long 
struggle  has  ended  at  last  in  victory,  and  we 
have  no  more  trouble  in  finding  work  for  our 
girls;  but  we  have  another  difficulty  now. 
Well-to-do  parents  and  brothers  consider  it  a 
disgrace  —  at  least  many  of  them  do  —  to  have 
their  daughters  and  sisters  work  as  though  they 
were  obliged  to  earn  their  support. 

"Haven't  you  food  and  clothes?"  they  ask 
indignantly,  when  a  girl,  filled  with  a  desire  to 
do  something  for  her  people,  intimates  a  pur- 
pose to  teach.  Perhaps  I  may  as  well  complete 
this  little  tale  here  and  now,  although  it  does 
not  belong  to  the  incident  of  the  Sabbath  I 
have  been  describing. 

A  few  days  later  the  (native)  pastor  came  to 
me  and  asked  anxiously,  ' '  Can't  you  persuade 
Shushan,  for  the  sake  of  peace,  to  give  up  go- 
ing to  Kozloo?  Her  brother  is  very  violent, 
and  talks  terribly,  declaring  that  even  if  she 
were  mounted,  and  going  through  the  most 
public  street,  he  would  drag  her  off  the  horse ; 
if  she  should  by  any  chance  succeed  in  carry- 
ing out  her  plan,  she  should  never  come  home 
again  —  he  would  never  again  acknowledge  her 
as  his  sister."  The  pastor  went  on  to  say  that 
he  thought  the  brother  had  offered  to  send  her 
away  to  school  if  she  would  give  up  ' '  this  crazy 
scheme,"  as  he  called  it. 

I  sent  for  Shushan,  and  finding  that  her 
brother  had  made  the  offer  referred  to,  advised 
her  to  accept  it.  The  sacrifice  of  her  will  for 
the  sake  of  avoiding  scandal,  would,  I  was 
sure,  be  as  acceptable  to  the  Master  as  the 
service  she  had  intended.  In  less  than  a  week 
thereafter,  she  was  on  her  way  to  a  distant 
school. 

We  passed  out  through  the  arched  gateway, 
and  then  parted  with  a  mutual  ' '  yer-taJc  par- 
rov"  —  "good- by."  How  the  sun  sparkled 
on  the  snowy  street,  on  the  mountains  which 
seemed  to  stand  across  it,  so  near  they  looked, 


THE     HAED     TEXT. 


and  reared  their  dazzling  summits  into  the  bril- 
liant blue  of  the  winter  sky. 

The  girls  with  their  shawls  modestly  over 
their  heads,  crossed  the  street  in  a  straggling 
Mttle  procession.  Fido  appeared  in  the  window 
which  she  had  pried  open  with  her  little  black 
nose  —  windows  are  hung  like  doors  —  gave  an 
eager  and  joyful  bark  or  two,  and  rushed  down 
to  welcome  them  home.  Then  they  sat  down 
to  their  breakfast  of  tea  and  bread.  The 
former  was  seasoned  with  white  lump  sugar 
(brown  sugar  is  unknown),  but  there  was  no 
butter  for  the  bread. 

I  doubt  whether  my  readers  would  have  rec- 
ognized the  thin,  whity-brown  sheets,  or  the 
rags  placed  before  one  of  the  girls  who  had 
elected  to  take  the  pieces,  as  bread,  but  so  it 
was.  They  have  many  kinds  in  Turkey,  and 
this  thin  kind,  a  little  thicker  than  blotting- 
paper,  is  very  popular  here.  In  the  autumn  it 
is  a  very  common  thing  for  a  girl  to  come  and 
say,  "Teacher,  mother  says  will  you  please 
excuse  me  from  school  to-day?"  And  she  ex- 
plains that  they  are  baking  bread,  and  need  her 
help. 

"But  why  doesn't  your  mother  get  some 
woman  to  help  her  ?  " 

Then  I  find  that  it  is  a  regular  "bee"  —  a 
bread  bee !  The  neighbors  are  already  there, 
and  they  will  work  all  night — it  is  no  small  job 
to  roll  it  out  so  thin.  There  will  be  no  more 
baking  till  the  worst  of  the  winter  is  over.  It  is 
stacked  away  in  a  dry  place,  and  when  wanted 
the  requisite  number  of  sheets  (about  two  feet 
long  by  one  wide)  is  taken,  sprinkled  as  you 
would  clothes  for  ironing,  and  after  a  few  mo- 
ments, folded  once  lengthwise  and  laid  around 
the  edge  of  the  table.  If,  instead  of  being 
sprinkled,  the  bread  is  held  over  the  fire  a  mo- 
ment, it  becomes  crisp  and  really  nice  ;  but  this 
is  seldom  done. 

After  the  housework  was  done  we  had  prayers, 
and  then  the  girls  were  dismissed  with  a  charge 
not  to  hang  about  the  halls  or  stairways,  as  the 
boys  were  coming  over  again  to  sing,  and  to 
keep  their  doors  closed.  "Not  ajar  as  last 
Sunday,  to  my  mortification  and  your  disgrace ; 
most  likely  the  boys  thought  you  left  them  open 
on  purpose  so  that  they  could  look  in."  Some- 


how the  boys  and  girls  are  wonderfully  inter- 
esting to  each  other  all  the  world  over. 

Soon  the  young  fellows  filed  in,  looking  half- 
pleased,  half-shy  —  big,  six-foot  Isaac,  and 
clever  little  Bo-ghos ;  Sumpad,  with  his  bright, 
frank  smile ;  poor,  awkward  Deekran,  the  best 
writer  in  school,  and  his  brother  Arsen.  We 
practiced  "Hold  the  Fort";  there  were  two 
bad  mistakes  with  which  we  struggled  for  a 
while.  Then  we  sang  "What  a  Friend  we  have 
in  Jesus,"  "  Sweet  By  and  by,"  "Almost  Per- 
suaded," "Go  Bury  thy  Sorrow,"  "The  Ninety 
and  Nine,"  and  others  —  all  in  Armenian,  of 
course. 

Then  I  said  just  a  word  to  Deekran  about 
money  I  entrusted  to  him — merely  a  caution  to 
be  careful  to  return  any  money  that  might  be 
left  over.  It  was  hardly  the  thing  for  the  Sab- 
bath, but  I  was  not  likely  to  see  him  for  some 
days,  and  I  wanted  to  prevent  any  carelessness 
—  it  is  so  important  for  boys  that  they  learn  to 
be  careful  and  business-like. 

HARRIET  G.  POWERS,  in  the  Evangelist. 


THE   HARD   TEXT. 

(Matt,  xii.  31,  32.) 

MANY  have  been  troubled  over  this  text. 
Some  have  been  in  despair  of  being 
saved  because  they  thought  they  had  committed 
this  unpardonable  sin. 

Probably  many  are  mistaken.  Any  one  that 
truly  feels  sorrow  for  his  sins,  and  really  longs 
for  forgiveness  and  hungers  for  holiness,  shows 
some  of  the  best  signs  that  he  has  not  com- 
mitted this.  God  will  not  cast  out  such  a  per- 
son, if  he  comes  in  Jesus'  name. 

But  there  is  a  sin  against  the  Holy  Ghost  so 
great  that  it  cannot  be  forgiven,  and  probably 
when  one  has  committed  it  he  is  so  desperately 
wicked,  so  hard  in  heart,  that  he  never  asks  to 
be  forgiven. 

You  will  wish  to  know  what  this  awful  sin  is, 
so  that  you  may  never  commit  it.  The  thought 
of  being  doomed  never  to  see  heaven  and  Chris- 
tian friends  after  death  fills  you  with  horror. 

But  then,   why  should   you  not   tremble   at 


A   SELFISH   KID. 


AN     AMUSING    ANECDOTE.  — A     STRANGE     GENERAL. 


committing  any  sin?  One  little  sin  leads  to 
another,  and  so  on,  until  the  sin  of  sins  is  the 
end  of  it  all.  Take  care ! 

But  how  is  it  —  or  was  it  —  worse  to  sin 
against  the  Holy  Ghost  than  against  the  Son  of 
Man? 

"Well,  the  first  might  be  done  in  ignorance. 
The  Roman  soldiers  did  not  know  what  a  dread- 
ful thing  they  were  doing  when  they  nailed  the 
dear  Lord  to  the  tree.  They  might  be  forgiven 
that.  But  the  Holy  Ghost  comes  to  show  one 
the  truth;  then  that  one  has  no  excuse,  you 
see.  His  sin  is  against  light.  It  is  most  de- 
liberate, willful,  determined.  It  is  much  more. 
But  remember  it  is  sinning  against  light,  great 
light.  L. 


AN   AMUSING  ANECDOTE. 

SOME  time  ago  an  amusing  little  anecdote 
was  related  about  the  German  Crown 
Prince  whilst  having  a  lesson  in  grammar  from 
his  tutor.  One  is  now  being  told  about  the 
second  son  of  the  imperial  couple,  Prince  Eitel 
Fritz.  The  Emperor  is  exceedingly  strict  about 
his  son's  behavior  at  table.  Not  long  since  lit- 
tle Prince  Eitel  Fritz,  using  his  fingers  instead 
of  his  knife  and  fork,  was  corrected  by  his 
father  several  times  to  no  purpose.  At  last 
the  Emperor's  patience  was  exhausted,  and  he 
said : 

' '  Children  who  eat  with  their  fingers  are 
like  little  dogs  that  hold  their  food  with  their 
paws.  If  you  use  your  fingers  again  you  must 
go  under  the  table,  the  proper  place  for  little 
dogs."  The  little  Prince  did  his  utmost  not  to 
forget  this  time,  and  used  his  knife  and  fork 
like  a  man ;  but  all  at  once  he  forgot  again  and 
began  using  his  fingers.  "March  under  the 
table,"  said  his  father.  Prince  Eitel  Fritz  crept 
under  as  bidden.  After  a  little  while  the  Em- 
peror,  thinking  the  Prince  very  quiet,  lifted  up 
the  tablecloth  and  peeped  underneath.  There 
sat  little  Prince  Eitel  Fritz  undressed.  His 
father  asked  him  what  he  meant  by  undressing 
himself.  The  child  answered,  "Little  dogs 
don't  wear  clothes;  they  only  have -skin."  — 
Selected. 


A   STRANGE   GENERAL. 

EARS  and  years  ago  there  was 
a  busy  housekeeper  thrown  into 
a  fever  of  anxiety  because  she 
heard  a  certain  famous  gen- 
eral wa«  coming,  and  that  she 
would  be  expected  to  entertain 
him.  She  flew  about  in  the  greatest  haste, 
pressing  all  the  people  around  her  into  service 
to  help  make  ready  for  the  distinguished  guest. 

Among  others  was  a  man  who,  by  his  dress 
and  general  appearance,  she  took  to  be  a  neigh- 
bor's servant.  "  Take  hold  and  help  us  here  a 
minute,"  she  said,  and  set  him  at  some  work  in 
the  kitchen.  That  being  done  the  man  volun- 
teered to  split  some  wood  to  a  certain  size,  as  it 
was  greatly  needed.  While  he  was  thus  em- 
ployed the  lady's  husband,  who  had  been  absent, 
reached  home,  and  was  informed  of  the  honor 
in  store  for  him.  He,  too,  set  about  helping 
with  the  preparations,  and  presently  went  to 
the  kitchen,  where  the  strange  servant  was  just 
laying  down  an  armful  of  the  wood  he  had  split. 

Imagine  the  man's  stare  of  astonishment, 
mingled  with  dismay,  when  he  recognized  in 
the  stranger  the  famous  general  in  whose  honor 
all  this  bustle  of  preparation  was  going  forward. 

In  stammering  confusion  he  approached  the 
supposed  servant,  who,  by  the  way,  was  slightly 
deformed,  and  asked  for  the  meaning  of  such 
an  extraordinary  state  of  things. 

"Why,"  said  the  helper,  with  a  broad  smile 
on  his  face,  "I  am  paying  the  fine  for  my 
deformity." 

I  leave  the  Pansies  to  learn  who  this  great 
man  was,  and  who  was  the  woman  who  in  her 
haste  to  honor  him  mistook  him  for  a  house  ser- 
vant, and  also  what  happened  in  consequence 
of  this.  PANSY. 


CRICKETS  are  bought  and  sold  in  various  parts 
of  Africa.  People  capture  them,  feed  them, 
and  sell  them.  The  natives  are  very  fond  of 
their  music,  thinking  that  it  induces  sleep. 
Superstitions  regarding  the  cricket's  chirp  are 
varied.  Some  believe  it  is  ominous  of  sorrow 
and  evil,  others  consider  it  a  harbinger  of  joy. 


CASTLE    QUEER. 


CASTLE  QUEEK. 


BABY'S    COENEK. 


BABY'S   CORNER. 

A    HAPPY    CHRISTMAS. 

[HRISTMAS  is  coming !  Christ- 
inas is  coming !  " 

That  is  what  little  Lucy  sang 
as  she  went  through  the  hall 
with   a   hop,   skip    and   jump, 
clapping  her  hands  for  joy. 

"  And  what  is  little  daughter  going  to  do  to 


III 


ONE  OF   THOSE   LOVELY   KOSES. 


make    somebody   happy   on   Christmas  day  ? " 

Papa  asked  this  as  he  came  out  into  the  hall. 

Then  he  kissed  Lucy  good-by,  took  down  his 


hat  from  the  rack,  and  went  out  of  the  front 
door  before  she  had  time  to  tell  him. 

Lucy  stopped  running,  and  looked  out  of  the 
window  and  thought  about  it. 

Then  she  went  upstairs  to  mamma  and  said : 
"Mamma,  what  am  I  going  to  do  to  make 
somebody  happy  to-morrow?     What  can  little 
girls  do  ?  " 

' '  You  can  be  just  as  sweet  as  a  rose  all  day, 
and  obey  mamma  as  soon  as  she  speaks.  That 
will  make  me  very  happy,"  said  mamma. 

' '  But  I  want  to  give  something 
to  somebody  to  s'prise  'em  and 
make  'em  glad,"  Lucy  said. 

"Who  is  there  that  you  would 
like  to  surprise  ? "  her  mamma 
asked. 

Lucy  thought  a  minute,  then  she 
said: 

"Mrs.  Ely." 

Mrs.  Ely  lived  in  the  "Home 
for  Aged  Women."  She  was  a  nice 
old  lady,  and  Lucy  often  went  with 
her  mother  to  call  upon  her. 

"Very  well,  dear,"  said  mam- 
ma ;  ' '  there  is  your  gold  dollar ; 
if  you  want  to  give  it  you  may." 

"May    I    buy    'zactly    what    I 
please,  mamma  ?  " 
"Yes,  dear." 

"  O,  how  nice!"  said  Lucy. 
"Can't  we  go  now,  right  off,  to 
buy  it?" 

Mamma  said  "Yes"  again,  and 
Lucy  ran  off  to  get  her  hood  and 
cloak  and  mittens.  In  a  few  min- 
utes she  was  out  on  the  street 
with  mamma,  gazing  into  all  the 
shop  windows.  "What  shall  I 
buy  ?  What  shall  I  buy  ?  "  she  kept  asking. 

Mamma  said  a  little  shawl  for  Mrs.  Ely's 
shoulders  would  be  nice,  or  a  pair  of  warm 


FROM    THE     HEART. 


stockings  or  some  handkerchiefs.     But   Lucy     off  one  of  those  lovely  roses  and  put  it  in  a 

shook  her  head.  vase.     She  carried  it  to  a  poor  old  lady  across 

"Wouldn't  she  like  a  bu'ful  dollie  or  a  sweet     the  hall  who  was  ill  in  bed,  and  it  made  her 


little  kitty  better?"  she  asked. 

Mamma  had  to  laugh  at  that. 

Just  then  Lucy  cried  out,  ' '  There  it  is ! 
see  it !     That  is  what  I  want." 

Guess  what  it  was. 


glad. 

So  you  see  little  Lucy  made  three  people 
happy  that  Christmas  day  —  the  sick  old  lady, 
Mrs.  Ely  and  herself. 

MRS.  C.  M.  LIVINGSTON. 


WHAT   THEY   NEED. 


It  was  a  beautiful  large  rosebush  in  a  pretty 
pot.  There  were  two  roses  on  it  and  plenty  of 
buds. 

So  they  went  in  and  bought  it.  The  man 
said  he  would  send  it  up  right  away. 

Old  Mrs.  Ely  was  sitting  in  her  rocking-chair 
knitting.  There  came  a  knock  at  the  door. 
She  opened  it,  and  who  should  be  there  but 
Lucy  and  her  mamma,  and  a  boy  with  a  rose- 
bush! 

How  surprised  Mrs.  Ely  was,  and  how 
pleased,  when  she  knew  that  little  Lucy  bought 
the  plant  with  her  own  money. 

"You  dear  little  lamb,"  she  said;  "it  will 
make  me  very  happy.  It  is  like  the  roses  in 
my  old  home." 

When  Christmas  morning  came  Mrs.  Bly  cut 


FROM   THE   HEART. 

ON  the  eve  of  Christmas, 
Ready  each  for  bed, 
And  with  heart  most  anxious, 

Bends  each  little  head, 
While  the  prayer  was  whispered 

Close  to  Grandma's  chair. 
Were  the  angels  bending 
O'er  a  sight  so  fair? 

' '  Dear  Jesus,  please  to  listen, 

For  Christmas  comes  to-morrow, 
And  we  so  much  need  some  dollies, 

So  we  needn't  have  to  borrow ! 
Please  have  them  made  of  wax, 

Wiv  blue  eyes,  and  pretty  curls ; 
And  we'll  love  you  more  than  ever ! 

We're  your  own  dear  little  dirls." 


k. 


A     LONG     CHRISTMAS 


A   LONG   CHRISTMAS. 


HERE  had  been  the  usual  Christ- 
mas-tree, which  the  cousins 
from  three  homes  had  gath- 
ered to  enjoy.  There  had  not 
been  a  Christmas  since  the  old- 
est of  them  could  remember — 
and  he  was  sixteen  —  that  the  cousins  had  not 
been  together  in  one  of  the  homes,  and  had  a 
frolic  around  the  Christmas-tree.  It  was  always 
hung  with  bright-colored  balls,  and  strings  of 
popcorn,  and  all  the  bright  and  pretty  and  use- 
less things  which  people  from  year  to  year  have 
contrived  for  such  trees.  It  always  had  clus- 
tered about  it  the  various  sorts  of  fruits  which 
refused,  because  of  their  weight,  to  be  hung 
upon  the  branches  —  dolls,  and  kites,  and  wag- 
ons, and  swords,  and  books  and  baskets.  Every 
year  the  fruit  grew  stranger  in  some  respects, 
with  a  dreary  sameness  in  others,  which  was 
actually  beginning  to  weary  the  hearts  of  the 
cousins. 

The  first  excitement  was  over.  The  fathers 
and  mothers  and  maiden  aunts,  together  with 
three  grandmothers  and  two  grandfathers,  had 
retired  to  quieter  parts  of  the  house,  and  the 
young  people  were  left  to  their  enjoyment.  It 
was  not  very  noisy  in  the  room,  nor  were  most 
of  the  cousins  absorbed  in  their  gifts ;  in  fact 
their  faces  were  already  sobering.  Little  Nell 
was  still  happy  over  her  new  building-blocks, 
and  Dell,  her  other  self,  was  trying  to  advise 
her  concerning  them,  while  Harold  tried  his 
new  paints  and  brushes  on  the  chair  he  occu- 
pied, his  guardian  sister  leaning  over  the  back 
of  the  chair,  so  absorbed  the  while  in  her  own 
grave  thoughts  that  she  did  not  even  notice  the 
mischief  he  was  doing. 

"  It  is  all  over  once  more,"  said  Holly.  He 
was  the  sixteen-year-old  cousin,  and  he  thrust 
his  hands  in  his  pockets,  and  said  it  with  a 
yawn. 

"  Some  of  it  is  a  good  deal  of  a  bore,"  an- 
swered Tom,  the  cousin  next  in  age,  echoing 
the  yawn.  "I  didn't  get  the  first  thing  I  ex- 
pected or  wanted." 

"  Neither  did  I ;  but  then  I  don't  know  what 
I  wanted,  I  am  sure,  unless  it  was  a  bicycle, 


and  you  can't  put  that  on  a  Christmas-tree  very 
well." 

"Why  not,  as  well  as  the  trumpery  which  is 
put  on? "  asked  Tom  contemptuously.  "I  tell 
you  the  whole  thing  is  getting  to  be  a  bore. 
Even  the  small  fry  don't  care  for  it  half  so 
much  as  they  think  they  do;  there's  Nannie 
sulking  this  minute  because  her  dollie,  which 
she  has  deserted,  is  not  so  nice  according  to 
her  notion  as  Lily's  is.  And  Ted  has  turned 
his  back  on  the  whole  of  it  because  he  didn't 
get  a  drum.  This  crowd  needs  something  new." 

"I  don't  know  what  it  would  be;  we  have 
had  everything  imaginable,  and  if  the  simple 
truth  were  told  need  presents  less  than  any 
young  folks  in  the  kingdom,  I  do  suppose.  My 
father  says  there  is  nothing  new  to  get  for  pam- 
pered young  people  like  us ;  and  I  don't  know 
but  he  is  about  right." 

"There's  a  whole  lot  of  money  spent  about 
it  every  year,  though."  This  was  from  Hor- 
tense,  the  oldest  of  the  girl  cousins,  and  a  sort 
of  adviser  of  the  two  older  boys. 

"I  know  it,"  said  Holly ;  "  and  a  good  deal 
of  it  is  wasted.  Nannie,  for  instance,  did  not 
need  another  doll  any  more  than  the  cat  needs 
two  tails,  and  as  for  me  I  have  seven  jack- 
knives  now." 

At  that  moment  Helen  turned  away  from  the 
paint  brush  which  she  had  not  noticed,  and 
joined  in  the  conversation. 

"  Isn't  it  funny?  I  have  five  new  balls,  and 
I  don't  care  for  any  of  them.  They  keep  giv- 
ing us  the  same  things  over  and  over." 

"They  forget,"  said  Holly;  "and  there  is 
nothing  new  for  them  to  get  us,  anyhow." 

"I  know  something  that  would  be  new." 
It  was  Hortense  again,  speaking  with  grave 
thoughtfulness.  The  boys  turned  and  looked 
at  her  inquiringly.  ' '  Don't  you  know  what 
Mr.  Briggs  told  about  the  children  out  in  the 
Colorado  mountains,  who  never  had  a  Christ- 
mas present  in  their  lives,  and  didn't  know  any- 
thing about  such  times  as  we  have?  I  was 
thinking  what  if  we  could  make  up  a  box  and 
put  into  it  all  the  dollies,  and  balls,  and  jack- 
knives,  and  things  that  we  don't  want,  and 
some  books,  and  perhaps  a  little  candy,  and 
send  it  out  there,  wouldn't  it  be  nice  ?  " 


A     LONG    CHRISTMAS, 


THEI14    FACES    WERE  ALREADY    SOBERING. 


A    LONG    CHRISTMAS. 


"Too  late  for  this  year,"  said  Tom  promptly. 

"Why,  no,  it  isn't;  if  we  hadn't  had  any 
Christmas  at  all,  ever,  we  would  be  willing  to 
have  one  come  to  us  in  January." 

The  boys  laughed,  and  Holly  said  heartily, 
"That's  so."  And  Hortense  began  to  tell  a 
story  that  she  had  heard  Mr.  Briggs  tell  to  her 
uncle,  and  the  younger  ones  gathered  about  her, 
leaving  dolls  and  paints,  and  the  interest  grew. 

It  was  the  very  next  day  that  Hortense  and 
Tom  and  Holly  went  to  Dr.  Parsons'  house  to 
see  Mr.  Briggs. 

"Why,  yes,"  he  said,  looking  perfectly  de- 
lighted with  them,  when  Holly  explained;  "let 
me  tell  you  about  a  brave  little  chap  out  there, 
only  eleven  years  old ;  his  father  was  guide  to 
the  tourists  who  wanted  to  climb  the  dangerous 
and  difficult  mountains,  and  lost  his  life  from 
exposure,  hunting  a  party  of  men  who  had 
strayed  away.  Little  Teddy  is  as  brave  as  a 
soldier.  He  is  a  guide  himself,  though  so 
young,  and  getting  to  be  one  of  the  surest  and 
safest  to  be  found  in  that  region,  only  he  is  so 
young  and  small  yet,  that  strangers  are  afraid 
to  trust  him.  A  dreary  life  Teddy,  leads ;  he 
and  his  mother  live  all  alone  in  a  little  house  at 
the  foot  of  a  mountain.  The  boy  has  only  the 
clothes  which  his  father  left,  made  over  for  him 
the  best  way  his  mother  can.  He  never  had 
anything  that  fitted  him ;  and  he  never  had  any 
playthings  in  his  life,  only  what  he  picked  up ; 
as  for  knives,  or  balls,  or  any  of  the  things 
which  boys  like  him  enjoy,  I  don't  know  what 
he  would  think  if  one  should  happen  to  come  to 
him.  You  needn't  suppose  that  he  hasn't  heard 
all  about  Christmas ;  his  mother  used  to  live  in 
a  farmhouse  in  New  York  State,  and  the  stories 
she  has  told  have  almost  driven  him  wi\d.  A 
few  rods  away  from  their  cottage  lives  a  family 
with  five  children  —  three  little  girls,  and  a 
four-year-old  boy  and  a  baby.  I  happen  to 
know  that  Teddy  set  his  heart  this  year  on 
having  some  sort  of  a  Christmas  present  for 
every  one  of  those  children  —  and  failed!  I 
did  not  mean  that  he  should,  but  I  was  sick  at 
just  the  wrong  time  after  I  reached  home,  and 
my  plans  did  not  work.  I  heard  from  there 
only  last  night,  and  poor  Teddy's  plans  did  not 
work,  either." 


Holly  had  his  note  book  and  pencil  in  hand. 
"  Will  you  give  us  his  full  name  and  address?" 
he  said. 

Such  a  time  as  the  cousins  had  packing  that 
box!  Every  baby  of  them  contributed,  not 
only  the  toys  which  they  did  not  want,  but  a 
few  that  they  loved,  and  parted  from  with  sighs. 
The  same  may  be  said  of  the  elder  cousins,  es- 
pecially when  it  came  to  books ;  Holly  was  a 
miser  where  these  were  concerned,  and  Hortense 
knew  how  to  sympathize  with  him.  It  took 
these  two  several  hours  to  be  willing  to  pack  in 
that  box  some  of  their  handsomely  bound  vol- 
umes, written  by  favorite  authors. 

But  they  had  to  go ;  for  Mr.  Briggs,  among 
other  things,  had  said,  "  I  never  saw  a  boy  so 
hungry  for  reading  in  my  life  as  Teddy ;  and 
he  has  only  scraps  of  old  newspapers,  which  he 
has  picked  up  from  time  to  time  among  the 
tourists." 

And  more  than  books  and  toys  went  into 
that  box. 

"  It  is  a  shame  for  a  fellow  to  have  no  clothes 
that  fit  him  ! "  declared  Tom.  "I've  been  there 
myself,  and  I  know  how  it  feels.  I  had  to 
wear  my  brother  Dick's  overcoat  once,  and  it 
was  too  large  for  me.  Mr.  Briggs  says  he  is 
about  the  size  of  Roger"  —  he  meant  Teddy, 
and  not  Mr.  Briggs.  "We  must  ask  mother 
about  that." 

They  asked  her  to  such  purpose,  and  Aunt 
Cornelia  as  well,  that  two  neat  suits  of  Roger's 
and  Cousin  Harry's  second  best  clothes  went 
into  the  box. 

The  day  in  which  it  was  finally  packed  was  a 
jubilee.  The  cousins  were  all  invited  to  Aunt 
Cornelia's  to  supper,  and  packed  the  box  in  the 
large  dining-room  after  supper,  with  a  little  of 
Aunt  Cornelia's  and  Uncle  Roger's  help. 

"  I  don't  know  as  I  ever  had  so  much  fun  in 
my  life,"  said  Holly,  looking  up  from  the  driv- 
ing of  the  last  nail  to  make  the  remark.  "It 
is  better  than  Christmas  a  dozen  times ;  in  fact 
it  is  a  Christmas  extension." 

"  And  won't  it  be  fun  to  hear  from  Teddy?  " 
said  Hortense. 

But  as  for  us,  we  cannot  expect  to  hear  from 
Teddy  until  January. 

PANSY. 


VOICES     OF     THE     BELLS. 


VOICES    OF   THE   BELLS. 

IN  yonder  tower  high  hangs  the  brazen     v  I/ 
bell,  I, 

Tolling,  tolling*; 

Upon  the  frosty  air  its  echoes  heave  and 
swell, 

Tolling,  tolling : 

The  bell  has  a  tongue  that  is  easily  heard ; 
When  it  is  swung  many  hearts  may  be  stirred, 
Though   its   tale   it   tells   with 
never  a  word  — 
Tolling,  tolling. 


It  swings  and  dings  in  the  morning  ah*, 

Ringing,  ringing  \ 
Tells  of  the  birth  of  a  baby  fair, 

Ringing,  ringing ! 

Tells  the  glad  news  so  that  all  may  know ; 
Those  in  the  village  asleep  below, 
Those  on  the  streets  moving  to  and  fro  — 

Ringing,  ringing ! 


Aloft    it    swings   in   the   schoolhouse 
tower, 

Dinging,  dinging ; 

With  brazen  tongue  it  proclaims  the 
hour, 

Dinging,  dinging : 

Calls  to  the  work  of  storing  the  mind 
With  useful  knowledge  of  every  kind, 
Urging  the  laggards  left  far  behind, 

Dinging,  dinging. 

Gently  it  swings  in  the  steeple  high, 

Pealing,  pealing; 
The  steeple  that  points  to  the  upper  sky, 

Pealing,  pealing : 

Calling  to  worship  on  hallowed  day, 
Calling  the  faithful  to  come  and  pray, 
Even  to  those  who  are  far  away  — 
Pealing,  pealing. 

Again  it  calls  in  a  joyful  tone, 
Ringing,  ringing ! 


EASTER     LILIES. 


Hinting  that  man  should  not  walk  alone, 

Ringing,  ringing ! 

And  so  they  throng  with  the  bridal  pair, 
And  the  glad  bells  sound  on  the  clear  sweet  air, 
For  the  bells  all  ring  for  the  belle  so  fair  — 

Ringing,  ringing ! 

Ah,  me  !  but  that  tongue  will  swing  again, 

Tolling,  tolling; 
Swing  again  with  a  solemn  strain, 

Tolling,  tolling : 


EASTER  LILIES. 

A     STALK  of  tall  white  lilies 
-LJL     Bloomed  out  in  a  garden  fair ; 
Their  breath,  so  sweet  and  fragrant, 

Scented  the  ambient  air. 

As  ^Easter  day  came  on  apace, 

It  seemed  as  if  they  tried 
To  grow  still  sweeter,  for  the  morn 

When  rose  the  Crucified. 


THE   BKLL,   HAS   A    TOSGUK   THAT   IS    EASILY    HKAKU. 


It  will  tell  how  some  one  beloved  has  died, 
How  the  cold  dark  earth  has  claimed  his  bride ; 
And  'twill   seem    in   its   strains    as   though  it 
sighed  — 

Tolling,  tolling. 

But  the  bells  above  may  swing  and  ring, 

Swinging,  ringing, 
In  the  temple  towers  of  the  Lord  the  King, 

Swinging,  ringing ; 

And  the  bells  below,  with  the  bells  up  there, 
May  sound  their  joys  for  this  Child  and  Heir, 
Who  is  called  to  heaven  its  joys  to  share  — 

Swinging,  ringing.       -G.  R.  A. 


When  dawned  the  holy  Easter  tide, 
And  they  were  full  in  bloom, 

A  sad-eyed  woman  gathered  them 
And  laid  them  on  a  tomb. 

And  as  she  knelt  in  deepest  woe 
Beside  the  flower-decked  mound, 

And  felt  that  all  her  hope  was  dead, 
The  lilies'  fragrance  stole  around. 

It  stole  into  her  wounded  breast ; 

The  sacred  odors  seemed  to  be 
A  message  for  her  bleeding  heart  — 

"The  Crucified  pities  thee." 

CAROLINE  STRATTON  VALENTINE. 


^  ^/Wd%g&&& 
%^fe-::::::--i% 


L     ...  V  -•'".'-J--  :'V:1  '  -•     •     :     .  >."••-    •     "•/ 


THK   BKLL   HAXGS   IN   THE   TOWER. 


CHAEACTER     STUDIES. 


CHARACTER    STUDIES. 


i. 


DWARD  STEADMAN  was  at 
home  for  the  Christmas  holi- 
days. Everybody  was  glad  to 
see  him,  of  course,  particu- 
larly his  mother;  because  in 
the  first  place  mothers  always 
are  a  little  bit  more  glad  over  the  home-coming 
of  their  boys  than  anybody  else  in  the  world 
can  be,  and  secondly  because  she  needed  some 
help  very  much,  and  knew  that  he  could  give  it. 
She  explained  matters  to  him  that  morning : 
"I  want  to  get  Grandma's  room  all  in  order, 
Edward,  and  her  new  carpet  down,  and  every 
thing,  before  Christmas,  you  know ;  and  we 
shall  have  to  work  like  bees.  I'm  so  glad  you 
came  home  this  week,  instead  of  stopping  at 
your  uncle's  first.  To-day  we  can  hang  all  jj|er 
pictures,  and  put  up  the  curtains  and  the  wall- 
pockets,  and  do  things  of  that  kind ;  they  will 
not  make  a  speck  of  dust  in  putting  down  the 
carpet  —  it  is  new,  you  know.  I  want  to  get 
all  those  things  done  to-day,  they  are  so  putter- 
ing —  take  a  great  deal  of  time  and  judgment. 
I'm  so  glad  to  have  you  to  depend  upon ;  you 
are  such  a  tall  boy  that  you  can  reach  where 
mother  can't ;  and  Dick  is  so  clumsy  I  hate  to 
have  him  stumping  about  Grandma's  room. 
Your  father  was  going  to  help  me,  though  he 
did  not  know  how  to  spare  the  time ;  he  was  as 
pleased  as  could  be  when  I  told  him  that  you 
could  do  it  all.  '  Sure  enough ! '  he  said ;  '  we 
have  got  a  boy  to  depend  upon  once  more ;  how 
good  it  seems  ! ' ' 

The  sentence  closed  with  a  fond  smile,  and 
such  a  look  in  the  mother's  eyes  as  ought  to 
have  made  a  boy  happy.  Edward  was  happy ; 
he  whistled  as  he  went  down  the  stairs,  and 
thought  to  himself  that  there  were  not  many 
fellows  who  had  such  a  mother  as  his,  and  that 
he  would  show  her  just  how  tall,  and  how  handy 
and  how  wise  he  was 

She  called  after  him  as  she  heard  the  street 
door  open. 

"Where  are  you  going,  Edward?  We  ought 
to  get  right  to  work ;  it  will  be  an  all-day  job, 


do  the  best  we  can,  and  the  light  is  good  in 
Grandma's  room  now  for  hanging  the  pictures. 
Must  you  go  to  the  post-office  first  ?  O,  well ! 
that  is  but  a  short  distance  ;  run  along,  and  get 
back  as  soon  as  you  can." 

"Halloo!"  said  Mr.  Arkwright,  the  post- 
master, who  had  known  Edward  ever  since  he 
was  a  little  fellow  in  kilts  and  curls,  "back 
again,  are  you?  How  you  do  shoot  up,  to  be 
sure !  I  believe  you  are  about  a  foot  taller 
than  you  were  in  the  fall.  Here's  your  mail ; 
nothing  but  papers  this  time,  but  enough  of 
them  to  snow  you  under !  "  And  he  pitched 
them  through  the  little  window  so  fast  that  they 
fell  to  the  right  and  left. 

"  Catalogues,  some  of  them,"  said  Edward, 
smiling ;  "I  asked  them  to  send  me  a  number 
of  the  new  ones ;  and  the  reports  of  our  com- 
mencement and  society  exercises  are  in  these 
papers." 

"Like  enough,"  said  Mr.  Arkwright ;  "had  a 
grand  time,  I  suppose?  You  carried  off  a  first 
prize,  I  hear?  Glad  of  it.  I  always  knew  it 
was  in  you.  Do  you  happen  to  be  going  directly 
home?  If  you  are,  would  you  mind  taking  this 
letter  and  handing  it  in  at  Westlake's  as  you 
pass?  I  see  it  is  marked  'Important,'  and  it 
may  save  him  some  trouble  to  get  it  right  away. 
He's  all  alone  in  the  office  to-day ;  his  boy  is 
sick." 

"Certainly,  sir,"  said  Edward,  reaching  for 
the  letter,  and  dropping  it  into  his  jacket  pocket. 
Then  he  walked  away,  looking  steadily  at  one 
of  the  papers,  which  he  had  already  opened. 

"  I  do  not  see  what  in  the  world  can  have 
detained  Edward !  "  said  Mrs.  Steadman,  speak- 
ing as  well  as  she  could  with  her  mouth  full  of 
tacks.  She  was  mounted  on  a  box  which  in  its 
turn  was  mounted  on  a  chair,  and  was  trying 
to  reach  to  fasten  the  curtain  in  Grandma's 
room. 

"I  should  think  you  would  wait  for  him," 
said  her  daughter  Fannie  anxiously.  "You 
ought  not  to  climb  up  like  that,  mother ;  father 
would  not  like  it  at  all,  and  I'm  afraid  you  will 
fall.  You  are  not  high  enough  yet  to  get  it 
right." 

' '  I  know  it ;  and  I  can't  drive  a  nail  away 
up  here,  either.  I  cannot  understand  why  Ed- 


CHARACTER     STUDIES. 


ward  doesn't  come ;  it  seems  as  though  some- 
thing must  have  happened  to  him.  I  explained 
to  him  particularly  what  a  hurry  we  were  in, 
and  how  much  there  was  in  which  he  could  help 


me. 


4 '  What  has  happened  to  him  is  that  he  has 
found  something  to  read,  I  suppose,  and  has 
seated  himself  somewhere  to  enjoy  it."  Fannie 
spoke  a  little  irritably ;  she  was  worried  about 


"  CERTAINLY,    SIR,"    SAID    EDWARD. 

her  mother,  and  they  had  been  waiting  for  Ed- 
ward for  more  than  two  hours.  The  short 
December  day  was  hurrying  toward  its  noon, 
and  nothing  had  been  done  of  the  many  things 
in  which  he  was  to  have  been  a  central  figure. 
Fannie  was  very  fond  of  her  brother,  but  she 
realized  his  besetments  better  than  the  others 
did,  or  at  least  she  said  more  about  them. 
"  O,  no !  "  said  the  mother  decidedly,  taking 


a  tack  out  of  her  mouth  to  enable  her  to  speak 
plainly ;  ' '  Edward  wouldn't  do  that,  after  all  I 
said  to  him  this  morning.  He  knew  how  anxious 
we  were  to  have  everything  ready  for  Grandma 
by  Christmas.  Something  unusual  has  hap- 
pened, I  feel  sure.  I  don't  know  but  Tommy 
would  better  run  out  and  see  if  he  can  find  him, 
only  it  seems  rather  absurd  to  be  sending  out 
in  search  of  a  big  boy  like  Edward." 

44 1  should  think  so !  "  Fannie  said,  and  they 
waited  another  half-hour.  Then  a  sharp  ring 
at  the  door-bell  startled  Mrs.  Steadman  so  that 
she  nearly  lost  her  balance.  Fannie  screamed 
a  little,  and  ran  toward  her. 

"  I  didn't  fall,"  she  said,  leaning  against  the 
window-casing  for  support ;  ' '  but  I  think  I 
shall  have  to  get  down.  I  don't  see  what  makes 
me  so  nervous.  It  seems  all  the  time  as  though 
something  was  going  to  happen ;  I  suppose  it  is 
because  Edward  doesn't  come.  Did  Jane  go  to 
the  door  ? " 

Yes,  Jane  had;  and  now  they  listened  and 
heard  Mr.  Westlake's,  their  neighbor's,  voice. 

' '  Is  Edward  here  ?  " 

No,  Jane  said,  somewhat  shortly,  he  was 
not;  and  as  to  where  he  was,  that  was  more 
than  they  knew.  Jane  had  been  called  from 
her  work  three  times  that  morning  to  help  with 
something  which  Edward  could  have  done,  and 
she  did  not  feel  sweet-natured. 

4  4  "Well,  I  wish  you  would  ask  your  folks  if 
they  have  any  idea  where  I  might  find  him," 
Mr.  Westlake  said  anxiously ;  "I  have  just 
come  from  the  office  —  it  was  the  first  chance  I 
had  for  going  this  morning  —  and  Arkwright 
says  he  sent  a  letter  to  me  marked  4  Important ' 
—  sent  it  by  Edward  nearly  three  hours  ago,  he 
should  think.  I  have  some  business  matters 
that  are  very  important,  and  I  thought  this 
might  be  a  summons  to  me  to  go  away  on  the 
express,  and  there  is  but  a  half-hour  or  less 
before  it  goes." 

Before  this  long  sentence  was  finished  Mrs. 
Steadman  was  at  the  door ;  but  she  had  no  in- 
formation to  give,  and  could  only  tell  the  an- 
noyed man  that  she  was  sorry,  and  that  she 
could  not  imagine  what  had  detained  Edward. 

"I  can,"  muttered  Jane,  as  he  turned  hur- 
riedly away;  "his  own  sweet  notion  is  detain- 


A     TEN-DOLLAR     CHRISTMAS. 


ing  him ;  he's  enjoying  himself  somewhere, 
readin'  a  book  or  paper,  and  letting  others  get 
along  the  best  way  they  can."  But  Jane  was 
only  talking  to  herself. 

The  Steadman  dinner  bell  was  sounding 
through  the  house  when  Edward,  flushed  and 
embarrassed,  came  bounding  up  the  stairs  two 
steps  at  a  time,  to  assure  his  mother  how  sorry 
he  was. 

"I  hadn't  the  least  idea  how  time  was  going," 
he  explained ;  ' '  never  was  so  astonished  in  my 
life  as  I  was  to  hear  the  bell  ring  for  noon ! 
Why,  you  see,"  in  answer  to  her  anxious  ques- 
tions, ' '  I  got  a  lot  of  papers  at  the  office  —  all 
about  our  closing  days,  you  know ;  of  course 
I  was  anxious  to  see  what  they  said  about  the 
examinations,  and  essays,  and  things,  so  I 
stepped  into  Dr.  Mason's  office  just  to  glance 
them  over.  The  doctor  was  out,  and  I  sat  and 
read  first  one  thing  and  then  another,  and  talked 
a  little  with  folks  who  kept  coming  in  search  of 
the  doctor,  until,  to  my  utter  astonishment,  as 
I  tell  you,  I  heard  the  bell." 

' '  Then  nothing  detained  you,  Edward  ?  " 

"Why,  no,  ma'am;  nothing  but  the  papers, 
as  I  tell  you.  I  had  not  the  faintest  idea"  — 

She  interrupted  him.  "Have  you  seen  Mr. 
Westlake?" 

"  Yes'm,"  and  now  Edward's  face  crimsoned ; 
"  I  met  him  on  the  street  and  gave  him  his  let- 
ter. I'm  dreadfully  sorry  about  that;  almost 
as  sorry  as  I  am  about  keeping  you  waiting, 
mother." 

"He  said  it  might  want  him  to  take  the  train ; 
do  you  know  if  it  did  ?  " 

"Yes'm,  it  did." 

"  And  he  missed  it?  " 

"Why,  of  course,  mother  dear;  the  train 
goes  at  eleven,  you  know.  I'm  awfully  sorry. 
It  is  perfectly  unaccountable  what  has  become 
of  this  forenoon  !  " 

Mrs.  Steadman  made  no  comment ;  she  did 
not  want  to  trust  herself  to  do  so  just  then. 
She  turned  away  with  a  sigh  so  deep  that 
it  would  have  cut  Edward's  heart,  had  he 
heard  it. 

And  Jane  nodded  her  gray  head  and  mut- 
tered, "  I  told  you  so !  " 

MYRA  SPAFFORD. 


A   TEN-DOLLAR   CHRISTMAS. 

[DELE  CHESTER  had  never 
spent  a  Christmas  in  the  coun- 
try before ;  neither  had  she 
ever  felt  quite  so  desolate. 
Mother  and  father  were  in 
Europe,  in  search  of  health  for 
the  father,  and  Adele,  who  had  been  left  in 
charge  of  Aunt  Martha,  had  herself  decreed 
that  she  would  go  nowhere  for  Christmas. 

' '  I  can't  be  happy  and  frolic  when  papa  is 
sick,"  she  said;  "and  as  for  the  country,  if 
Aunt  Martha  can  live  there  all  her  life,  I  think 
I  can  endure  one  Christmas."  So  she  had 
staid ;  but  it  must  be  confessed  that  the  world 
looked  dreary  to  her  that  wintry  morning,  with 
nothing  but  snow  to  be  seen  from  her  window. 
She  almost  thought  she  would  have  been  wiser 
to  have  joined  the  Philadelphia  cousins.  "At 
least  there  would  have  been  a  chance  to  spend 
my  Christmas  money,"  she  murmured  gloomily, 
as  she  tapped  on  the  frosty  window  pane  with 
restless  fingers.  "  I'm  sure  I  don't  know  what 
I  can  buy  in  this  little  tucked-up  place." 

The  ' '  tucked-up  place  "  was  really  a  nice 
town  with  about  five  thousand  people  living  in 
it,  but  to  Adele,  whose  home  was  in  New  York 
City,  it  seemed  absurd  to  call  it  a  town.  Aunt 
Martha's  farmhouse  was  only  half  a  mile  from 
some  very  good  stores,  where  Adele  had  found 
a  few  things  to  suit  her  during  the  three  months 
she  had  spent  there,  and  on  the  whole  she  had 
managed  to  be  quite  happy.  But  she  did  not 
feel  like  being  suited  with  anything  this  morn- 
ing. Such  a  queer  Christmas  for  her !  She 
had  had  her  presents,  as  usual  —  a  new  fur  cap 
from  Aunt  Martha,  a  writing-desk  well  fur- 
nished from  Uncle  Peter,  a  lovely  ring  with  a 
real  diamond  in  it  from  mamma,  and  a  new 
chain  for  her  pretty  watch  from  papa.  What 
more  could  a  reasonable  girl  want?  Truth  to 
tell,  she  wanted  nothing  but  the  dear  home,  and 
mamma's  kisses,  and  papa's  arms  around  her. 
The  ring  and  chain  were  beautiful,  but  they  did 
not  seem  like  presents  from  them,  when  she 
knew  they  crossed  the  ocean  weeks  ago,  and 
had  been  lying  in  Aunt  Martha's  bureau  drawer 
waiting  for  this  morning..  She  valued  the  letter 


A     TEN-DOLLAR    CHRISTMAS. 


more  which  had  arrived  only  the  night  before, 
and  she  drew  it  from  her  pocket  and  kissed  it, 
letting  a  tear  or  two  fall  on  the  words,  ' '  My 
Darling  Child,"  as  she  read  them  once  more. 
' '  Papa  and  I  are  so  sorry  to  be  away  from  you 
to-day,"  the  letter  read ;  "we  have  tried  to  find 
something  suitable  to  send  on  so  long  a  journey, 
and  planned  to  reach  you  on  the  very  day,  but 
have  failed ;  papa  has  not  been  well  enough  to 
look  about  much  for  a  few  weeks,  and  I  could 
not  go  alone.  At  last  we  decided  to  send  you  a 
fifty-dollar  bank  note  and  bid  you  go  and  spend 
it  in  the  way  which  would  make  you  happiest." 

"The  idea !  "  said  Adele,  smiling  through  her 
tears,  as  she  refolded  the  letter,  "just  as  though 
I  could  find  anything  here  to  buy  to  make  me 
happy !  Mamma  must  have  forgotten  for  the 
moment  where  I  was.  Yet  I  want  a  few  things, 
some  Christmas  bonbons,  at  least,  if  they  know 
the  meaning  of  the  word  in  this  little  place, 
and  above  all,  I  want  a  brisk  walk  in  the  snow. 
I  shall  take  ten  dollars  of  my  fifty,  and  go  out 
and  spend  it;  I  won't  waste  another  cent  on 
this  old  town.  I  wonder  what  I  can  do  with 
ten  dollars  to  make  me  happy  ?  "  She  laughed 
half  scornfully.  Ten  dollars  seemed  so  very 
little  to  this  girl,  who  had  always  spent  money 
as  freely  as  water,  and  done  as  little  thinking 
about  it  as  the  birds  do  over  the  spring  cherries. 

In  a  very  few  minutes  she  was  wrapped  in 
furs  and  out  upon  the  snowy  road.  Aunt 
Martha  offered  her  the  sleigh  and  the  driver, 
and  her  "leggings"  and  woollen  mittens,  but 
she  would  have  none  of  them.  She  was  a  good 
walker,  and  had  been  used  to  miles  in  the  city. 
She  hid  her  nose  in  her  muff,  because  the  wind 
over  this  wide  stretch  of  snow  was  very  keen, 
and  sped  along  "like  a  snowbird,"  Aunt  Martha 
said,  watching  her  from  the  window.  And  then 
she  sighed,  this  dear  old  auntie  whom  the  coun- 
try satisfied.  She  saw  the  shade  on  the  face  of 
her  darling  this  morning,  and  was  sorry  for  her, 
and  wished  so  much  that  she  could  do  something 
to  brighten  her  Christmas  day. 

The  little  town  was  reached  in  due  time,  and 
the  streets  were  gay  with  Christmas  finery ;  the 
stores  were  open  quite  generally,  to  catch  the 
belated  Christmas  buyers.  In  an  hour  or  two 
they  would  close  for  the  day ;  but  the  custom 


in  this  thriving  manufacturing  town  was  to  give 
the  tardy  ones  a  Christmas  morning  chance. 
Adele  went  from  one  store  to  another,  dissatis- 
fied, disconsolate.  Nothing  suited  her.  The 
truth  is,  when  a  gifl  does  not  need  an  earthly 
thing,  and  is  yet  determined  to  spend  some 
money,  she  is  sometimes  rather  difficult  to  suit. 
She  halted  at  last  before  a  show  window  and 
looked  at  the  bright  fineries  displayed  there. 
So  did  little  Janey  Hooper,  who  had  come  out 
with  ten  cents  to  buy  a  soup  bone  for  the  day's 
dinner.  Adele,  turning  from  the  window,  jostled 
against  her,  and  looked  down  upon  the  mite. 
She  seemed  not  more  than  eight,  yet  there  was 
a  wise,  grown-up  look  in  her  eyes  which  held 
the  homesick  girl's  attention. 

"Are  you  trying  to  make  Christmas  too? 
What  do  you  see  in  the  window  you  like  ?  " 

"Everything,"  said  the  little  girl  simply. 

"Do  you?  you  are  fortunate.  Are  you  go- 
ing to  buy  them  all  ?  " 

"  O,  no !  not  a  single  one.     I  couldn't." 

Adele,  looking  closely  at  her,  was  seized  with 
a  sudden  impulse.  "Suppose  you  could  buy 
one  thing,  what  would  it  be?  "  she  asked. 

The  little  girl's  eyes  flashed.  "  Oh  !  I  would 
buy  that  shawl  —  that  soft  gray  one  with  pussy 
fringe  —  it  looks  just  like  mother." 

It  was  a  dingy  little  shoulder  shawl,  of  the 
kind  which  can  be  bought  for  two  dollars. 
' '  Does  your  mother  need  a  shawl  ?  "  asked  Adele. 

"  O,  yes'm !  she  needs  it  badly  enough ;  but 
we  are  not  going  to  get  one,  not  this  year ;  we 
can't." 

There  was  decision  and  composure  in  the 
tone,  like  a  woman  who  had  settled  the  whole 
question,  and  put  it  beyond  the  range  of  argu- 
ment. Her  manner  amused  Adele. 

"That  was  for  your  mother,"  she  said; 
' '  what  would  you  choose  for  yourself  ?  " 

"Me?"  said  the  child,  surprised.  "Oh!  I 
don't  know.  I  might  take  that  brown  coat, 
maybe,  or  some  mittens,  or  —  I  don't  know 
which  I  would  take.  What's  the  use?" 

She  was  turning  away ;  but  Adele 's  gloved 
hand  detained  her.  The  little  sack  she  wore 
was  much  too  thin  for  so  cold  a  morning. 

"Wait  a  minute,"  she  said  gently.  "Tell 
me  what  your  name  is,  won't  you,  and  where 


A     TEN-DOLLAK     CHRISTMAS. 


you  live,  and  what  you  came  out  for  this  cold 
morning  with  so  thin  a  sack  ?  " 

"  I'm  Janey  Hooper;  we  live  down  there  on 
Factory  Lane.  It  wasn't  far  to  go,  and  my 
sack  is  worn  out,  that  is  why  it  is  so  thin ;  but 
it  will  do  very  well  for  this  winter.  I  came  out 
to  buy  the  Christmas  dinner." 

"Did  you,  indeed!  Aren't  you  very  young 
to  go  to  market  ?  " 

"  O,  no,  ma'am!  I'm  turned  nine,  and  the 
oldest  of  four,  and  father's  dead.  Of  course  I 
have  to  do  all  I  can.  I  know  how  to  choose  a 
lovely  soup  bone." 

"Do  you?  Are  you  going  to  have  soup 
to-day?" 

"  Yes'm,  a  big  kettle  full ;  I've  got  ten  cents 
to  buy  a  bone  with.  I  generally  get  a  five-cent 
one ;  but  we  thought  for  Christmas  we  would 
have  it  fine.  My  brother  is  to  be  home  to  din- 
ner; he  is  most  twelve,  and  likes  soup." 

There  was  a  mist  before  Adele's  eyes  that 
the  frosty  air  did  not  make.  She  brushed  it 
away  and  settled  her  plans. 

"Come  in  here  with  me  a  minute,"  she  said; 
"I  want  your  help  about  something."  The 
child  followed  her  wonderingly,  with  eyes  that 
grew  every  moment  larger,  as  the  thick  brown 
coat  which  hung  on  a  wire  figure  was  taken 
down  and  deliberately  tried  by  the  smiling  shop 
girl  on  her  quaint  little  self. 

"  It  fits  to  a  T,"  said  the  girl;  "Janey  has 
a  pretty  figure,  and  that  just  suits  her." 

"It  is  warm,  at  least,"  said  Adele.  "Did 
you  say  it  was  two  and  a  half?  What  an  ab- 
surd price  !  Keep  it  on,  child ;  it  is  for  you. 
This  is  Christmas,  you  know,  and  Santa  Glaus 
3ent  it  to  you.  Now  that  shoulder  shawl." 

A  moment  more,  and  it  was  in  Janey 's  aston- 
ished arms.  Her  eyes  sparkled,  but  she  made 
an  earnest  protest :  "Oh !  if  you  please,  I  don't 
think  I  can ;  I  am  afraid  mother  would  not "  — 

"Your  mother  cannot  help  herself,"  inter- 
rupted Adele.  "  Don't  you  know  I  told  you  it 
was  Santa  Glaus?  He  does  what  he  likes  al- 
ways. Come  along,  I'm  going  to  market  with 
you  ,•  I  want  to  see  you  pick  out  a  soup  bone. 
Is  it  to  go  in  that  basket  ?  " 

She  picked  it  out  with  grave  care  and  with 
skill,  Adele  and  the  market  man  watching  her 


the  while.  "  Isn't  it  a  nice  one,  Bobby?  "  said 
the  child,  to  a  stout  boy  who  had  also  stopped. 
Adele  turned  as  the  freckled  boy  nodded. 

"Who  is  this?  Is  he  a  friend  of  yours? 
Well,  Bobby,  Santa  Glaus  wants  you  to  do  an 
errand  for  him,  will  you?  He  will  give  you 
four  of  those  red-cheeked  apples  if  you  will." 

The  boy  laughed  good-naturedly,  and  said  he 
didn't  know  much  about  Santa  Glaus,  but  he 
would  do  whatever  she  wanted  done. 

"Very  well,"  said  Adele  merrily;  "I  want 
that  market  basket  which  hangs  up  there.  Can 
you  lend  it  to  this  boy  for  a  little  while?"  The 
market  man  declared  his  entire  willingness  to  do 
so,  and  kept  Janey  Hooper  waiting  for  her  bone 
while  he  filled  that  basket  with  everything  which 
Adele's  eyes  could  discover,  which  might  add  to 
a  Christmas  dinner.  There  was  a  plump  chicken, 
a  roast  of  beef,  a  string  of  sausage,  some  pota- 
toes, apples,  onions,  turnips,  a  great  bunch  of 
celery,  and,  in  short,  whatever  the  market  man 
suggested,  after  the  girl's  skill  was  exhausted. 

"  Is  that  too  heavy  for  you?  "  said  Adele. 

"  O,  no,  ma'am !  "  Bobby  assured  her. 

"Very  well;  I  want  you  to  take  it  to  this 
little  girl's  mother's  house,  and  tell  her  Santa 
Claus  sent  it  to  go  with  the  soup,  and  that  it 
has  given  him  a  happy  Christmas  to  do  so. 
Will  you  remember?  " 

He  nodded  brightly,  stuffing  rosy- cheeked 
apples  into  his  pocket  the  while,  and  they 
trudged  away,  Janey  trying  to  murmur  her  be- 
wildered protests,  while  Adele  paid  her  bill. 

"I've  spent  every  cent  of  my  ten  dollars," 
she  told  Aunt  Martha  an  hour  later.  ' '  I  hadn't 
even  enough  to  buy  you  any  Christmas  bonbons  ; 
but  I  have  obeyed  mamma's  directions  ;  I  was 
to  buy  something  to  make  me  happy,  and  1 
haven't  felt  so  happy  in  weeks  as  I  do  this 
minute.  When  I  get  my  things  put  away  I'll 
come  down  and  tell  you  all  about  it." 

Aunt  Martha  watched  her  bound  up  the  stairs, 
a  glow  on  her  cheeks  and  a  sparkle  in  her  eyes 
which  they  had  lacked  when  she  went  out ;  and 
whatever  the  purchase  had  been,  she  was 
grateful. 

As  for  Janey  Hooper  and  her  mother,  to  say 
nothing  of  Bobby,  who  took  dinner  with  them, 
you  must  imagine  how  they  felt.  PANSY. 


WHITE     AS     WOO  L 


MAKING   THE    SHEEP    CLEAN. 


MISS    PAEKER'S     GIRLS. 


MISS   PARKER'S   GIRLS. 

HERE  were  thirteen  of  them, 
all  told.  An  "unlucky  num- 
ber," one  of  them  said,  and 
laughed;  they  were  girls  who 
did  not  believe  in  "  luck." 
They  laughed  a  great  deal  dur- 
ing these  days,  and  were  very  happy.  They 
had  as  lovely  a  secret  on  their  minds  as  thirteen 
girls,  all  of  them  between  the  ages  of  eleven 
and  thirteen,  ever  had.  They  were  also  very 
busy,  and  held  many  committee  meetings,  and 
discussed  plans,  and  went  in  companies  of  twos 
and  threes  to  transact  business.  "  We  were 
never  so  busy  before  at  this  time  of  year,  were 
we  ?  "  they  said  to  one  another.  ' '  And  we  never 
had  so  much  fun  in  our  lives !  "  some  one  would 
be  sure  to  say.  To  this  sentiment  they  all 
agreed. 

"  This  time  of  year"  was  a  few  days  before 
Christmas.  The  preparations  for  Christmas, 
so  far  as  these  girls  are  concerned,  began  two 
weeks  before.  It  started  on  Sunday  afternoon 
in  the  Bible  class.  Miss  Parker  had  been  even 
more  interesting  than  usual  that  day.  She  suc- 
ceeded in  so  filling  their  hearts  with  the  lesson, 
especially  with  one  thought  in  it,  that  Cora 
Henderson  said,  half  enviously  : 

"O,  dear!  I  can't  help  wishing  that  we  had 
lived  in  those  times.  Of  course  it  was  dread- 
ful ;  but  then,  after  all,  it  gave  one  such  splen- 
did opportunities !  Think  of  John  having  a 
chance  to  take  Jesus'  mother  home  and  do  for 
her.  And  to  know  that  Jesus  wanted  him  to, 
and  was  pleased  with  it !  I  think  it  would  have 
been  just  lovely;  there  are  no  such  chances 
nowadays,"  and  Cora,  aged  thirteen,  sighed. 

Miss  Parker  smiled  on  her  brightly.  "Are 
you  sure  of  that,  my  dear  girl?  Remember  we 
are  talking  about  a  history  which  is  different 
from  any  other  in  the  world,  because  Jesus  is 
"the  same  yesterday,  to-day  and  forever." 

"  O,  yes'm !  "  Cora  said  civilly ;  "  I  know  it ; 
but  then,  of  course,  things  are  different.  His 
mother  is  not  here  on  earth  for  us  to  take  care 
of;  I  should  love  to  do  it,  I  know  I  should," 
and  Cora's  fair  face  glowed,  and  her  eyes  had 
a  sweet  and  tender  light  in  them. 


Miss  Parker  looked  at  her  fondly.  "My 
dear  child,"  she  said,  "I  think  you  would;  but 
do  you  forget  how  He  said,  '  Whosoever  shall 
do  the  will  of  my  Father  which  is  in  heaven, 
the  same  is  my  brother  and  sister  and  mother '  ?  " 

Cora  looked  a  little  bewildered,  and  Miss 
Parker  explained. 

' '  I  think  we  all  forget  that  according  to  that 
verse  Jesus  has  many  '  mothers '  on  earth,  in 
the  persons  of  his  dear  old  saints,  who  are  poor, 
and  weak,  and  tired,  and  are  only  waiting  to  be 
called  home.  There  are  so  many  things  we 
could  do  for  their  comfort,  if  we  only  remem- 
bered that  they  were  the  same  to  Jesus  as  his 
own  dear  mother." 

The  girls  looked  at  one  another  wonderingly. 
This  was  a  new  way  of  putting  it.  Cora  did 
more  than  look.  "What  a  lovely  thought!" 
she  said ;  "I  should  never  have  thought  it  out 
for  myself,  but  it  must  be  so,  because  what 
would  that  verse  mean  if  it  were  not?  O,  Miss 
Parker !  couldn't  we  girls  do  it  ?  Do  you  know 
of  any  old  lady  whom  we  could  help  a  little  — 
make  a  pretty  Christmas  for,  perhaps?  Girls, 
wouldn't  you  all  like  to  do  it  ?  " 

So  that  was  the  beginning.  Yes,  Miss  Parker 
knew  an  old  lady ;  had  had  her  in  mind  all  the 
week ;  had  wondered  how  she  could  set  to  work 
to  interest  her  dear  girls  in  her.  She  needed  a 
great  deal  of  help,  and  Miss  Parker  had  very 
little  of  this  world's  goods.  She  knew  that 
some  of  her  girls  came  from  homes  where  there 
was  plenty.  "But  I  do  not  like  to  be  always 
begging,"  she  told  her  mother.  Then  she  had 
asked  the  Lord  Jesus  to  show  her  some  way  of 
interesting  the  girls  in  poor  Grandmother  Blaks- 
lee.  And  here  they  were  asking  for  the  name 
of  an  old  lady  whom  they  could  help !  What  a 
lovely  answer  it  waS  to  her  prayer. 

Grandmother  Blakslee's  story  was  a  sad  one, 
though  only  too  common.  Her  two  daughters 
and  her  one  son  had  died  long  years  before, 
leaving  a  little  granddaughter,  .who  had  grown 
to  girlhood  and  married  a  worthless  drunkard, 
who  deserted  her,  and  at  last  she  died,  leaving 
to  Grandmother  Blakslee  the  care  of  her  poor 
little  baby  boy.  In  many  ways  life  had  gone 
hard  with  Grandmother  Blakslee ;  and  now  in 
her  old  age,  when  she  was  too  feeble  to  work, 


MISS     PARKER'S     GIRLS. 


the  thing  which  she  had  dreaded  most  in  the 
world,  next  to  sin,  had  come  to  her  door.  She 
could  no  longer  pay  the  rent  for  her  one  little 
bare  room,  and  must  send  her  little  boy  to  the 
orphan  asylum,  and  go  herself  to  the  poorhouse. 
It  seemed  a  very  pitiful  thing  to  Grandmother 


Johnnie  was  to  go  with  her  for  that  one  day, 
and  the  next  morning  he  was  to  be  taken  in  the 
market  wagon  to  the  asylum.  Poor  Grand- 
mother Blakslee !  her  heart  was  very  sad  and 
sore,  but  she  tried  to  keep  her  face  quiet  and 
peaceful  for  Johnnie's  sake.  She  had  not  been 


"NOW  LET  US  ASK   A   BLESSING. 


Blakslee  that  she  should  have  had  to  plan  to 
leave  the  bare  little  room  on  Christmas  morning, 
but  that  happened  to  be  the  day  when  it  was 
convenient  for  the  man  who  had  promised  to 
take  her  and  her  old  arm-chair.  Poor  little 


able  to  make  the  little  fellow  understand  that  he 
was  to  be  separated  from  her ;  the  most  he  real- 
ized was  that  they  were  to  take  a  ride  together 
and  spend  the  day  in  a  big  house,  and  he  was 
happy.  On  the  little  three-cornered  table  was 


MISS     PARKER'S     GIRLS. 


set  a  dish  with  baked  potatoes  and  warm  rolls, 
and  the  teapot  stood  near  it ;  a  neighbor  only  a 
little  less  poor  than  themselves  had  remembered 
them.  Grandmother  tried  to  have  only  thank- 
fulness in  her  heart ;  but  could  she  forget  that 
she  had  lived  in  that  town  more  than  sixty  years, 
and  been  a  member  of  the  church  all  that  time  ? 
Occasionally  she  could  not  help  feeling  it  was 
strange  that  there  could  have  been  no  other 
way  but  to  go  to  the  poorhouse.  "  It  won't  be 
long  now  for  me,"  she  told  herself,  "and  I 
should  like  to  have  kept  Johnnie  while  I  staid, 
poor  little  boy !  But  it  was  not  to  be."  Then 
she  smothered  a  sigh  and  said,  "Come,  Johnnie, 
let  us  ask  a  blessing,  then  we  will  have  our  last 
breakfast  alone  together." 

It  was  while  Johnnie  stood  with  clasped 
hands,  saying  after  Grandmother  the  words  of 
blessing,  that  a  knock  was  heard  at  the  little 
door.  "  Come  in,"  said  Grandmother  Blakslee 
the  moment  the  words  of  prayer  were  spoken, 
and  a  strange  head  was  thrust  in  at  the  door. 

"I  can  wait,  ma'am,"  said  the  owner  of  it 
respectfully.  "  I'm  to  take  you  in  my  rig,  and 
my  orders  were  to  wait  until  you  were  ready." 

"Did  Mr.  Patterson  send  you?"  asked 
Grandma,  her  voice  all  in  a  tremble.  "  I 
thought  he  meant  to  come  himself,  and  I 
thought  he  said  about  ten  o'clock;  but  we'll 
hurry,  Johnnie  and  me ;  we  won't  keep  you 
long.  Can  you  take  the  chair,  too?  " 

"Yes'm;  them's  my  orders;  and  no  hurry  in 
life,  ma'am,  take  your  time,"  and  he  closed  the 
door. 

Johnnie  stuffed  in  the  buns  and  potatoes,  and 
pronounced  them  good ;  but  poor  Grandmother 
Blakslee  only  swallowed  a  few  mouthfuls  of  tea 
which  almost  choked  her.  Life  was  very  hard. 

She  was  soon  ready ;  it  would  not  do  to  keep 
Mr.  Patterson's  team  waiting.  But  she  stared 
at  it  when  she  came  out.  It  was  not  the  mar- 
ket wagon ;  instead  it  was  a  handsome  two- 
horse  sleigh,  with  gay  robes'  on  the  seats,  and 
gay  bells  on  the  handsome  horses.  "You 
needn't  be  at  all  afraid,  ma'am,"  said  the 
strange  man,  "these  horses  is  gentle  as  kit- 
tens, if  they  do  love  to  go,"  and  he  lifted  her 
in  as  though  she  had  been  a  kitten,  tucked 
Johnnie  under  the  robes  beside  her,  and  before 


she  could  get  her  breath  to  speak  they  were  off . 
Just  a  gay  dash  around  the  corner,  down  one 
familiar  street,  up  another,  and  they  halted  be- 
fore a  tiny  white  house  set  back  among  tall  trees 
which  staid  green  even  in  winter. 

"There  is  some  mistake,"  faltered  Grandma 
Blakslee,  more  breathless  than  ever.  "I  wasn't 
to  be  brought  here  ;  I  was  to  go  to  the  asylum 
out  on  the  Corning  Road,  near  two  miles ;  I 
don't  know  the  folks  that  live  here ;  I  didn't 
know  it  was  rented." 

The  strange  man  chuckled.  "I  guess  there's 
no  mistake,"  he  said,  "  and  you'll  like  to  make 
their  acquaintance  ;  anyhow,  I  must  do  my  duty 
and  leave  you  here ;  I'm  under  orders." 

Trembling  and  bewildered,  poor  Grandma, 
because  she  did  not  know  what  else  to  do,  let 
herself  be  set  down  in  front  of  the  door,  which 
the  man  opened  hospitably,  saying  as  he  did  so, 
' '  Step  right  in ;  the  folks  that  live  here  will  be 
glad  to  see  you."  Then  he  shut  the  door  and 
went  away.  They  were  left,  Grandmother  and 
Johnnie,  in  a  little  hall  opening  into  a  pretty 
room  at  the  right.  The  door  was  wide  open, 
and  a  bright  fire  burned  in  a  shining  stove. 
There  was  a  bright  carpet  on  the  floor ;  there 
was  a  rose  in  blossom  in  one  window,  and  some 
geraniums  in  the  other.  There  was  a  large 
easy  chair  in  front  of  the  stove,  with  a  table 
beside  it  on  which  was  set  out  a  lovely  break- 
fast for  two.  On  the  stove  the  tea-kettle  sang, 
and  some  genuine  tea  in  a  little  brown  teapot 
on  the  right-hand  corner  back,  sent  out  its 
delicious  aroma.  In  an  alcove,  behind  some 
pretty  curtains  which  were  partly  drawn,  waited 
a  plump  white  bed ;  and  Grandma  Blakslee 
stood  in  the  midst  of  all  this  luxury  and  stared. 

"Grandma,"  said  Johnnie,  "have  we  got 
there?  Is  this  the  big  house?  Where  are  all 
the  folks  ?  Where  is  this,  and  whose  breakfast 
is  that?  Are  we  to  eat  it,  Grandma?  It  is 
nicer  than  ours.  Why  don't  you  sit  down  in 
that  pretty  chair  ?  Here  is  a  little  one  for  me, 
with  wed  cushions.  Can't  we  stay  here  every 
day,  Grandma?" 

Grandma,  feeling  unable  to  stand  another 
minute,  tottered  forward  and  dropped  into  the 
softness  of  the  easy  chair,  and  spied,  tucked 
under  the  edge  of  a  plate,  a  sheet  of  folded 


A     SABBATH    IN     A     BOARDING-SCHOOL     IN    TURKEY. 


paper.  Then  she  fumbled  for  what  Johnnie 
called  the  "  speticles  that  could  wead,"  and 
read: 

Welcome  home,  dear  Grandma  Blakslee.  Merry  Christmas 
to  you  and  Johnnie. 

FROM  Miss  PARKER'S  GIRLS. 

No,  they  hadn't  "done  it  every  bit  them- 
selves." There  had  been  several  fathers  and 
mothers  who  were  glad  to  help,  as  soon  as  they 
thought  about  it.  Cora  Henderson's  father  had 
said,  ' '  Why,  Grandma  Blakslee  might  live  in 
the  little  empty  cottage  this  winter  and  wel- 
come ;  he  wondered  they  had  not  thought  of  it 
before."  Anna  Smith's  mother  said  she  would 
be  glad  to  get  rid  of  that  carpet  rolled  up  in  the 
attic ;  she  had  no  use  for  it,  and  it  was  a  pat- 
tern she  had  never  liked.  Ella  Stuart's  mother 
said  the  old  arm-chair  and  the  old  lounge  would 
do  nicely  if  they  were  re-covered,  and  she  was 
sure  she  did  not  want  them.  And  so  the  plan 
grew  and  grew,  and  the  girls  were  O,  so  busy 
and  happy  !  It  was  the  best  Christmas  of  their 
lives,  they  all  declared,  especially  after  they 
made  their  call  on  Grandma,  and  found  her 
almost  too  happy. 

"It  is  almost  pitiful,"  said  Anna  Smith,  "to 
see  a  poor  woman  cry  for  joy  over  one  little 
room  and  a  few  old  duds !  " 

And  Cora  Henderson,  with  her  eyes  shining 
like  stars,  said,  "Isn't  it  lovely?  I'm  so  glad 
that  verse  is  in  the  Bible,  and  Miss  Parker 
thought  it  all  out !  "  PANSY. 


A  SABBATH  IN  A  BOARDING-SCHOOL 
IN  TURKEY. 

II. 

MUST  explain  that  some  time 
before  this  I  had  learned  that 
the  boys  in  the  boarding-school 
who  had  no  pocket  money, 
could  not  go  to  the  bath  as 
often  as  I  thought  they  ought. 
While  I  was  considering  this  problem,  an  Arme- 
nian gentleman  gave  me  something  over  two 
dollars  to  use  as  I  saw  fit.  Thinking  "cleanli- 


ness next  to  godliness,"  though  the  Bible  does 
not  say  it  in  just  those  words,  I  used  to  give 
Deekran  a  quarter  or  so  now  and  then  to  use 
for  himself  and  the  other  poor  boys. 

When  they  rose  to  go,  I  asked  Sumpad  if  he 
could  stop  a  moment,  I  wanted  to  have  a  little 
talk  with  him.  How  glad  I  was  to  find  that  he 
had  a  hope  in  Christ,  and  was  trying  to  live 
for  him.  It  was  a  great  privilege  to  speak  a 
few  words  of  sympathy  and  encouragement. 

How  can  I  believe  the  terrible  news  that  has 
just  come  to  me  here  in  free  America?  How 
can  I  think  of  him  in  his  young,  Christian  man- 
hood as  dead  in  a  horrible  Turkish  dungeon ! 
Why,  what  had  he  done?  He  had  written  a 
few  lines  of  boyish  admiration  for  the  heroes 
of  his  own  race,  the  Armenians.  And  so  he 
must  die  alone  of  typhus  fever  after  a  four 
months'  imprisonment,  utterly  cut  off  from  all 
his  friends.  Poor  young  martyr!  No  one 
could  get  access  to  him ;  yes,  there  was  one 
Friend  whose  entrance  neither  bolts  nor  bars 
could  prevent  —  the  King  of  heaven  and  earth ; 
what  need  of  any  other?  Death  has  now  un- 
locked the  prison  door,  and  opened  the  gate  of 
heaven ;  no  more  tears  should  be  shed  for  him 
—  happy  young  martyr. 

But  I  have  wandered  far,  both  as  to  place 
and  time,  far  from  that  peaceful,  happy  Sabbath. 

It  was  now  lunch  time  ;  then  came  Sabbath- 
school.  The  men  and  boys  met  in  the  chapel, 
but  as  it  was  not  large  enough  to  accommodate 
more,  the  women's,  girls'  and  the  infant  class 
met  elsewhere.  Isgoohe,  a  member  of  the 
senior  class  in  the  high  school,  took  charge  of 
the  second  of  these.  After  going  over  the  les- 
son, she  began  to  ask  personal  questions  : 

"Now,  girls,  what  have  you  done  for  Jesus 
this  week?  " 

A  hand  was  raised. 

"What  is  it,  Marta?" 

"I  let  Funduk  have  my  comb  for  Jesus'  sake. 
It  was  such  a  nice  one,  I  did  not  like  to  have 
her  use  it ;  but  Miss  Gouldiug  told  me  I  ought 
to  be  kind  to  Funduk." 

Then  Armenoohe  said  that  going  home  from 
school  one  day,  a  girl  she  did  not  know  very 
well  called  out,  "Armenoohe,  run  and  get  me 
another  clog;  mine's  broken."  (The  clog  is  a 


GOOD    FUN! 


wooden  sole  with  a  heel  at  each  end,  as  it  were, 
and  a  leather  strap  to  slip  the  foot  into.  These 
heels  are  from  one  to  three  or  four  inches  in 
height,  and  raise  the  foot  well  out  of  the  mud 
or  snow.)  "At  first,"  said  she,  "I  thought 
that  it  was  no  affair  of  mine,  and  that  the  girl 
was  rather  impudent  to  ask  such  a  thing.  Then 
I  remembered  what  you  told  us,  Isgoohe,  about 
not  pleasing  ourselves;  so  I  asked  her  which 
was  her  house,  and  got  the  clog  and  brought  it 
to  her,  and  she  never  even  thanked  me  !  "  (It 
was  not  so  very  long  since  Armenoohe  herself 
had  learned  to  say  "  thank  you.") 

Two  or  three  others  told  their  little  efforts  at 
denying  self ;  then  the  bell  rang  for  the  after- 
noon service. 

In  the  evening  I  invited  any  who  wished  to 
talk  with  me  to  come  to  my  room.  Soon  after- 
ward Rakel  came.  She  was  rather  a  pretty 
girl,  with  bright  red  hair ;  she  was  full  of  fun, 
and  a  dreadful  tease.  She  dropped  on  to  the 
hassock  at  my  side  in  a  bashful  sort  of  a  way. 

' '  Was  there  something  you  wanted  to  say, 
Rakel?" 

"Yes,"  came  the  whispered  answer ;  "I  want 
to  love  my  companions." 

I  enlarged  a  little  upon  the  duty  and  privi- 
lege of  loving  others,  and  then  waited  for  her 
to  speak ;  but  she  was  silent  so  long,  that  I 
finally  asked  if  there  was  anything  else  she 
wished  to  say. 


"Yes;  how  can  I  love  those  who  make  me 
angry?" 

Well,  that  was  a  problem,  to  be  sure !  But 
then,  the  dear  Saviour  can  help  us  solve  every 
problem,  so  we  knelt  and  prayed,  both  of  us, 
for  his  help  in  this  particular  matter.  • 

She  had  been  gone  but  a  minute,  when  her 
cousin  Sarra  came,  Bible  in  hand,  to  ask  the 
meaning  of  the  verse,  "Whether  therefore  ye 
eat,  or  drink,  or  whatsoever  ye  do,  do  all  to  the 
glory  of  God."  There  were  several  other  verses 
she  wanted  explained,  and  then  by  a  little  gentle 
questioning,  I  learned  some  more  of  the  trouble 
between  her  and  Rakel,  who  she  said  was  always 
teasing  her,  using  her  books,  and  leaving  them 
about  carelessly.  Then  she  hung  her  head  and 
confessed  that  when  she  found  her  Bible  on  the 
divan,  and  Fido  tearing  out  a  leaf,  she  had  at 
once  blamed  Rakel,  and  retaliated  by  getting 
her  Bible  and  banging  it  on  to  the  floor. 

"Was  that  right,. Sarra?  Do  you  think  that 
was  one  way  to  glorify  God  ?  " 

"No,"  she  replied  honestly,  but  her  voice 
was  low  and  husky.  Then  we  talked  of  the 
way  Christ  bore  with  men  and  their  cruelty  and 
''sins,  and  we  asked  him  to  make  us  gentle  and 
patient,  kind  to  others,  even  when  they  were 
unkind  to  us. 

The  retiring  bell  tinkled  through  the  hall,  and 
so  ended  the  beautiful,  blessed  day. 

HARRIET  G.  POWERS,  in  the  Evangelist. 


Goon    FUN ! 


THE   BATTLE  IS   ON. 


HE   WAS    COMING   FROM   THE   OLD   WELL,. 


"WHAT   IF   I  HAD!" 

EW  YEAR'S  morning  and  the 
snow  lying  deep  over  all  the 
paths,  drifted  even  to  the  tops 
of  the  fences!  Plenty  of 
work  for  Stephen  "Watson ;  he 
frowned  a  little  as  he  looked 
out  of  his  attic  window  in  the  cold  gray  of  the 
early  morning  and  saw  his  nicely-made  paths 
all  carefully  covered.  But  almost  before  the 
frown  had  cleared  away  he  laughed,  and  broke 
at  last  into  a  cheery  whistle.  "No  great  loss 
without  some  gain."  He  stopped  to  make  this 
wise  remark  aloud,  then  went  on  with  his  whist- 
ling. What  he  longed  for  just  now  was  a  holi- 
day—  a  chance  to  take  a  run  across  lots  to  Dick 
Wheeler's  home  and  see  the  new  book  which  his 
uncle  sent  him  for  Christmas  A  beautifully 


bound  book  with  "oceans  of  pictures,"  and 
telling  all  about  a  journey  to  Europe.  "Not  a 
stupid  history,"  Dick  reported,  "but  a  regular 
story,  telling  all  about  how  some  folks  went 
and  had  jolly  times,  and  saw  no  end  of  things, 
and  described  them."  Stephen's  brain  was 
fairly  whirling  with  a  desire  to  examine  this 
book.  It  may  as  well  be  owned  that  a  book  of 
almost  any  sort  had  wonderful  attractions  for 
this  boy ;  and  books  and  papers,  and  indeed 
reading  matter  of  any  kind,  were  painfully 
scarce  in  the  country  farmhouse  where  Stephen 
was  chore  boy.  Mrs.  Griggs,  the  mistress,  did 
not  more  than  half  believe  in  them ;  she  eyed 
even  Stephen's  Geography  with  suspicion,  and 
occasionally  asked  her  husband  "What  sense 
there  was  in  that  boy's  learning  where  all  the 
rivers  and  mountains  in  creation  with  outland- 
ish names  were  to  be  found.  What  good  would 


WHAT     IF     I     HAD  ! 


it  do  him?  He  would  never  find  them  outside 
of  a  book." 

Well,  Stephen  had  smiled  and  whistled,  be- 
cause he  saw  that  this  heavy  fall  of  snow  was 
likely  to  further  his  plans  for  a  holiday.  If  it 
had  only  drifted  enough  to  make  the  roads  to 
the  ledge  farm  impassable  then  Mr.  and  Mrs. 
Griggs  would  stay  at  home  and  take  care  of 
the  house,  and  when  his  chores  were  done,  he 
might  possibly  be  allowed  to  go  over  to  Dick's. 

Everything  seemed  to  be  shaping  according 
to  his  plans.  Mr.  Griggs  remarked  at  the 
breakfast  table  that  there  "wouldn't  be  no 
sense  in  trying  to  get  to  Mary  Ann's  that  day ; 
the  ledge  road  always  drifted  if  it  could  get  a 
chance,  and  the  wind  was  still  blowing  in  that 
direction."  Mrs.  Griggs  had  sighed,  it  is  true, 
and  said  that  ' '  Mary  Ann  would  be  dreadfully 
disappointed,"  but  she,  too,  had  said  that  she 
supposed  there  was  no  use  in  trying  to  go. 

Stephen  went  about  his  chores  with  a  will,  a 
trifle  sorry  for  Mrs.  Griggs,  and  a  little  curious 
over  the  idea  that  anybody  in  the  world  could 
be  much  disappointed  over  not  receiving  a  visit 
from  her  and  Mr.  Griggs.  "But  then  I  sup- 
pose it  is  because  they  are  her  father  and 
mother,  and  that  makes  a  difference,"  said  this 
orphan  boy,  with  a  sigh.  But  he  could  not 
help  being  glad  that  they  were  not  to  go. 
What  if  he  got  the  chores  all  done  so  early 
that  there  were  several  hours  before  dinner,  and 
Mr.  Griggs  would  let  him  go  in  the  forenoon? 
Wouldn't  that  be  a  lark  worthy  of  the  day! 
Dick  Wheeler's  mother  was  always  good-na- 
tured, and  twice  she  had  asked  him  to  stay  to 
supper  with  Dick ;  there  was  everything  to  be 
hoped  for  in  that  direction.  He  was  coming 
from  the  old  well  with  two  brimming  pails  of 
water,  when  Mr.  Griggs,  out  by  the  ash  barrel, 
with  his  hands  in  his  pockets  to  keep  them 
warm,  dashed  the  boy's  hopes  to  the  ground. 
' '  GSt  about  through,  Stephen  ?  Then  I  guess 
you  may  hitch  up,  after  all.  The  wind  has 
gone  down,  and  Mis'  Griggs  is  disappointed, 
and  she  thinks  we  better  try  it.  You  may  get 
things  ready  as  fast  as  you  can ;  we  ought  to 
be  off  if  we  are  going ;  then  you'll  have  a  long 
warm  day  in  the  kitchen.  Don't  on  no  account 
leave  the  place ;  that  wouldn't  do,  of  course." 


Not  a  word  said  Stephen,  though  he  would 
like  to  have  thrown  the  pails  of  water  over  Mr. 
Griggs,  and  kicked  the  empty  pails  into  a  snow- 
drift. He  had  never  been  so  disappointed  in 
his  life  !  "A  long  warm  day  in  the  kitchen !  " 
If  there  was  any  day  which  he  utterly  hated  it 
was  such  an  one ;  not  even  a  new  almanac  to 
read  —  Farmer  Griggs  had  been  waiting  for  one 
to  be  sent  to  him  from  somewhere,  and  it  had 
not  come.  Of  course  there  was  nothing  to  do 
but  obey ;  but  Stephen  felt  that  he  hated  New 
Year's  dinners,  and  wished  that  "Mary  Ann" 
lived  fifty  miles  away,  and  hoped  that  Farmer 
Griggs  would  encounter  a  drift  so  deep  that 
Mother  Griggs  would  be  rolled  over  in  the 
snow !  Oh !  he  was  fierce  enough  to  wish 
almost  anything. 

It  was  because  of  all  this  that  a  very  glum- 
faced  boy  looked  out  of  the  small-paned  kitchen 
window  about  two  hours  afterwards,  and  watched 
a  single  horse  and  cutter  skim  gaily  along.  Only 
one  person  in  the  sleigh,  and  he  muffled  in  furs, 
and  looking  as  though  life  was  one  long  holiday. 
Stephen  believed  that  everybody  but  himself 
was  having  a  holiday.  Suddenly  the  sleigh 
drew  up  in  front  of  their  gate.  "Halloo!" 
said  the  man  in  furs,  and  Stephen  ran  out  and 
down  the  snowy  path.  ' '  Good-morning !  Happy 
New  Year,"  said  a  pleasant  voice.  "  Can  you; 
tell  me  whether  this  is  the  right  road  to  Mr. 
Bennett's  farm  ?  " 

"  Yes,  sir,  it  is." 

' '  How  far  from  here  to  Mr.  Bennett's  ?  " 

"Five  miles,  sir;  but  there  are  none  of  them, 
at  home." 

"  They  are  not?     How  do  you  know  that?  " 

"I  know  the  boy  who  drives  their  horses,  and 
he  went  by  awhile  ago ;  he  was  on  his  way  back 
from  Dr.  Freeman's,  where  he  had  been  to  take 
Miss  Carrie — Mr.  Bennett's  daughter — and  the  - 
boy  said  his  folks  were  all  away  for  the  day,  and  > 
he  was  going  to  his  grandmother's  to  dinner." 

Stephen  could  not  help  adding  that  last,  be- 
cause it  had  been  a  very  bitter  drop  in  his  cup 
of  trouble.  Mr.  Bennett's  house  could  stay 
alone,  it  seemed,  while  the  boy  went  to  his 
grandmother's  to  dinner,  whereas  this  old  farm- 
house had  to  be  watched  as  though  there  was 
danger  of  its  running  away. 


WHAT  'IF    I     HAD!" 


" That  is  the  state  of  things,  is  it?"  said  the 
stranger.  "  Thank  you ;  I  do  not  care  to  take 
a  five-mile  drive  through  these  drifts  to  find  a 
shut-up  house.  Can  you  tell  me  where  Dr. 
Freeman  lives  ?  " 

"  He  lives  about  a  mile  from  here ;  but  Miss 
Carrie  Bennett  isn't  there  now,  sir;  she  has 
gone  with  Miss  Freeman  to  bring  a  Miss  Banks, 
who  lives  two  miles  west,  to  eat  dinner  with  them 
at  the  doctor's."  Stephen  told  this  story  with 
an  amused  twinkle  in  his  eye ;  it  struck  him  as 
a  queer  thing  that  he  should  be  so  well  posted 
concerning  matters  which  evidently  interested 
this  handsome  stranger.  The  stranger  turned 
on  him  a  keen,  questioning  glance.  "You  seem 
to  understand  your  neighbors'  affairs  very  well 
indeed,  my  boy.  How  does  it  happen?  " 

Stephen  laughed.  "Why,  Pete  just  hap- 
pened to  tell  me  about  it,  sir ;  he  said  he  was 
in  luck,  and  did  not  have  to  drive  them  there 
himself,  because  the  doctor's  team  drove  up  in 
just  the  nick  of  time  and  took  them.  Everybody 
is  in  luck  except  me." 

"Is  that  so?"  asked  the  stranger,  his  face 
breaking  into  a  genial  smile.  "I  am  certainly, 
since  I  have  found  a  quick-witted  boy  who  has 
saved  me  ten  miles  of  useless  driving.  Can 
you  do  me  another  favor  now,  and  let  me  come 
in  and  visit  with  you  for  awhile,  until  in  your 
judgment  the  doctor's  team  has  had  time  to  find 
Miss  Banks  and  bring  her  back  ?  I  do  not 
happen  to  be  acquainted  with  any  of  the  party 
save  Miss  Bennett,  and  would  prefer  waiting 
until  she  is  there  before  I  make  my  call." 

Mr.  Griggs  never  refused  travelers  a  chance 
to  warm,  and  of  course  Stephen  invited  this 
one  into  the  house  and  did  the  honors  of  the 
kitchen  as  well  as  he  could.  Somehow  —  he 
never  quite  understood  how  it  was  —  he  found 
himself  telling  the  story  of  his  bitter  disappoint- 
ment to  this  stranger  —  all  about  the  wonderful 
book  full  of  pictures  and  stories  of  travel.  He 
was  astonished  afterwards  to  think  how  much 
he  talked ;  but  then,  the  stranger  listened  so 
kindly,  and  his  eyes  were  so  bright,  and  his 
smile  so  pleasant,  and  he  asked  so  many  ques- 
tions, it  seemed  impossible  not  to  confide  in  him. 

"  Po  you  like  books,"  he  said,  as  at  last  he 
arose  ;  ' '  and  books  of  travel  ?  Well,  I  do  my- 


self;  and  it  happens  curiously  enough  that  I 
have  a  package  of  books  in  my  sleigh  at  this 
moment,  two  of  which  I  think  you  would  enjoy. 
I  was  taking  them  to  a  nephew  of  mine,  and 
missed  seeing  him ;  probably  because  it  was  iri- 
t  tended  that  you  should  have  them  instead.  I 
owe  you  a  debt  of  gratitude ;  and  I'll  exchange 
the  information  you  gave  me  for  whatever  in- 
formation you  can  find  in  the  books,  which  are 
yours  to  keep,  you  understand.  And  now  don't 
you  think  Miss  Banks  may  have  arrived  at  the 
doctor's  by  this  time  ?  " 

Stephen  helped  him  off  in  good  style,  but  in 
such  a  flutter  of  excitement  that  he  could  hardly 
respond  to  the  cheery  "good- by,"  for  in  his 
hands  were  two  very  large,  very  handsomely 
bound  books,  sparkling  with  pictures,  and  with 
the  most  inviting-looking  reading.  They  must 
certainly  be  larger  than  Dick  Wheeler's  one, 
for  that  had  been  minutely  described  to  him. 
Besides,  there  were  two  of  these ;  and  besides, 
oh !  besides,  they  were  his  very  own,  to  keep  ! 
As  he  turned  the  leaves,  like  one  in  fairyland, 
he  said  aloud,  "  What  if  I  had  got  a  chance  to 
go  to  Dick  Wheeler's  this  morning  and  missed 
this?  O,  my!  what  if  I  had!  "  PANSY. 


t  ™f\  Wk 


LOOK  OUT  1  WE'KE  COMISG. 


BABY'S     CORNER. 


BABY'S   CORNER. 

WHAT   HAPPENED    TO    BUNNY. 

UNNY  is  the  name  of  a  squirrel 
with  a  very  long  tail. 

When  nuts  were  ripe  Bunny 
worked  hard  to  pick  them  and 
store  them  up  for  his  family  to 
live  on  through  the  cold  winter. 

His  house  was  in  a  big  hollow  tree.  The 
door  to  it  was  a  little  round  hole.  He  had  a 
nice  large  pantry. 

All    day   long,    in    the    pleasant    Oc-to-ber 
weather,  when   children  were    playing,   Bunny 
was     picking     nuts     and 
scampering  down  the  trees 
to  put  them  safe   in  his 
pantry. 

He  had  a  good  many 
kinds  of  nuts.  There 
were  butternuts  and  wal- 
nuts and  chestnuts,  and 
tiny  beechnuts  for  the 
teeny  weeny  squirrels. 
At  last  Bunny's  pantry 
was  full,  and  he  was  all 
ready  for  December  with 
its  cold  winds  and  snow- 
flakes. 

One  morning  something 
happened !  Just  as  Bunny 
started  out  he  found  a 

wire  cage  in  front  of  his  door.     He  thought  it 
was  a  pretty  little  house,  so  he  walked  in. 

Snap!  went  the  door  of  this  pretty  little 
house,  and  shut  itself  tight. 

Bunny  tried  on  every  side  to  get  out,  but  he 
could  not.  He  was  in  a  prison. 

While  he  wondered  what  he  should  do  a  big 
boy  came  and  looked  at  him. 

"Hurrah!  "  he  said. 


Then  big  boy  took  up  the  cage  and  carried  it 
off  home. 

He  gave  Bunny  to  his  little  sister  Susie. 

Susie  was  kind  to  Bunny.  She  put  him  in  a 
basket  with  a  soft  bed  and  gave  him  cake  and 
candy. 

But  Bunny  was  not  happy.  He  was  too 
warm  in  the  house  with  his  fur  coat  on,  and  he 
wanted  to  get  back  to  his  dear  children.  He 
would  not  play ;  he  sat  still  and  looked  sad. 

"Poor  Bunny !  "  said  Susie's  mamma ;  "he 
is  used  to  being  outdoors,  and  frisking  about. 
He  wants  to  see  his  little  children  and  eat  the 
nuts  he  laid  up." 

"  Then  he  shall  go,"  Susie  said. 


"THEN  HE  SHALL  GO." 

So  she.  told  him  good- by ,  and  carried  the  cage 
out  in  the  garden  and  opened  its  door. 

Away  went  Bunny !  He  scampered  over  the 
fence  and  whisked  up  a  tall  tree  as  quick  as 
wink. 

How  happy  he  was  to  get  to  his  hollow  tree 
once  more. 

Was  not  Susie  a  nice  little  girl? 

MKS.   C.  M.  LIVINGSTON. 


A     LONG     CHRISTMAS. 


A  LONG   CHRISTMAS. 

PART    II. 

T  was  a  January  night,  very 
cold.  The  snow  which  was  al- 
ways on  the  mountains  looked 
down  on  the  snow  which  some- 
times melted  from  the  valleys, 
and  seemed  to  smile  at  it  in  a 
hard,  cold  way,  for  supposing  itself  to  be  of 
any  importance  at  all.  •  The  white  cross  made 
by  the  peculiar  shape  of  the  mountains,  and 
the  action  of  the  sun  on  the  snow,  gleamed  in 
the  moonlight  more  beautiful  than  usual  to 
Teddy  Simpson,  as  he  pushed  back  the  over- 
coat several  times  too  large  for  him,  thrust  his 
hands  into  his  pockets,  and  leaned  against  the 
snow-covered  hill  to  think.  Hundreds  of  stars 
twinkled  down  upon  him,  brighter  and  more 
filled  with  jewels  than  they  ever  are  in  any 
other  sky,  I  think ;  but  Teddy's  thoughts  were 
not  of  them. 

He  was  waiting  for  the  teamster  whose  route 
lay  along  this  mountain  side,  and  who  always 
brought  the  mail  from  the  distant  settlement, 
as  well  as  any  supplies  or  packages  which  the 
miners  might  need.  Not  that  Teddy  expected 
any  mail !  Bless  your  heart,  he  had  never  re- 
ceived a  letter  in  his  life,  nor  even  a  paper 
through  the  mails.  To  have  done  so  even  once 
would  have  almost  taken  his  breath  away.  Yet 
he  was  deeply  interested  in  the  teamster's 
wagon ;  as  he  stood  still  in  the  moonlight  to 
think,  there  was  an  eager  look  in  his  eyes,  and 
he  listened  for  the  sound  of  the  cracking  whip 
with  such  an  air  of  expectancy  as  his  face  did 
not  often  wear.  The  fact  is,  Teddy  Simpson 
had  planned  a  wonderful  surprise  for  his  mother 
which  his  friend  the  teamster  was  helping  him 
to  carry  out.  Very  poor  they  were,  he  and  his 
mother ;  she  cooked  for  the  miners,  and  washed 
for  them,  and  mended  their  clothes,  but  the 
miners,  too,  were  poor,  and  could  pay  but  lit- 
tle. The  truth  is,  the  people  who  lived  and 
worked  in  this  beautiful,  desolate  region  were 
all  poor  together.  Teddy  had  had  plans,  beau- 
tiful plans,  for  the  Christmas  three  weeks  be- 
hind him,  and  had  failed  in  them.  He  and  his 


mother  knew  all  about  Christmas ;  had  not  she 
hung  up  her  stocking  every  year  of  her  life 
until  she  was  a  great  girl  fifteen  years  old? 
Teddy  never  had,  because  Santa  Glaus  seemed 
never  to  get  so  far  West  as  where  he  lived ;  but 
while  the  father  was  alive  Teddy  always  had  at 
least  one  Christmas  present,  if  it  was  nothing 
but  a  picture  cut  from  some  of  the  illustrated 
papers  of  the  tourists,  and  framed  by  his  mother 
with  some  bits  of  bright  paper  laid  away  for  such 
purposes.  Teddy  had  been  a  man  grown  now 
for  two  years  —  at  least  he  felt  like  one  —  with 
no  time  for  such  trifles ;  but  he  had  longed  to 
make  a  bright  Christmas  for  the  miner's  family 
with  five  little  children,  their  nearest  neighbors. 
If  his  mother  had  not  had  a  sick  day  when  he 
was  obliged  to  do  her  work  as  well  as  he  could, 
and  in  doing  it  wasted  some  of  the  material 
and  lost  a  good  deal  of  time,  he  thought  he 
should  have  accomplished  it.  As  it  was,  he 
could  not  get  the  Christmas  treat  ready  for 
them,  but  promised  himself  that  another  year 
he  would  be  on  hand.  Then  he  had  turned  his 
thoughts  to  a  surprise  for  his  mother.  That, 
too,  had  been  a  Christmas  plan,  but  failing 
then,  he  resolved  that  he  would  not  wait  for 
the  next  season.  The  surprise  was  nothing 
more  nor  less  than  a  half-pound  of  the  best  tea 
which  the  silver  half-dollar  he  had  sent  by  the 
teamster  could  supply.  The  poor  little  over- 
worked mother  was  very  fond  of  tea ;  he  had 
often  heard  her  say  that  a  good  cup  of  it  aftei 
a  hard  day's  work  seemed  to  rest  her  as  noth- 
ing else  would ;  but  since  the  father  died,  she 
had  bravely  put  it  aside  as  one  of  the  luxuries 
which  they  could  not  now  afford. 

If  there  were  time  to  tell  you  how  long  and 
hard  Teddy  had  worked  for  that  extra  half- 
dollar,  never  taking  a  cent  for  it  from  the  regu- 
lar wages  of  the  day  which  he  earned  as  his 
share  of  the  family  support,  you  would  not 
wonder  that  he  had  grown  almost  feverish  in 
his  anxiety  as  the  weeks  went  on,  lest  he  should 
fail  in  having  the  right  amount.  He  had  ac- 
complished it,  and  the  day  had  come  for  the 
teamster  to  go  on  his  fortnightly  trip,  and  the 
day  and  evening  had  arrived  for  his  return, 
and  here  at  a  bend  in  the  road  Teddy  waited 
for  him. 


A     LONG     CHRISTMAS. 


Away  in  the  distance  on  the  still  frosty  air 
broke  at  la  t  the  sound  of  a  cheery  whistle,  and 
Teddy  held  himself  still  and  listened.  Jim 
Coon,  the  teamster,  was  a  friend  of  his,  and 
Teddy  did  not  believe  he  would  whistle  if  any- 
thing so  cruel  had  happened  as  that  the  supply 
grocer  had  been  out  of  tea. 

"Halloo  !  "  said  Jim,  as  he  came  with  a  flour- 
ish around  the  bend  in  the  snowy  road,  "  waitin', 
be  you?  I  thought  it  was  a  ghost  froze  stiff  to 
the  rocks.  Climb  up  here,  and  we'll  be  home 
in  a  jiffy.  Beats  all  what  a  hurry  this  team  has 
been  in  this  afternoon  —  all  owing  to  you,  I 
s'pose.  O,  yes  !  I  got  it,  safe  and  sound ;  the 
very  best  kind  of  tea  ever  brought  to  these 
parts,  Joe  Derrick  says,  and  he  put  in  a  good 
big  half-pound  of  it,  I'm  witness  to  that." 

Then  Teddy  drew  a  long  breath,  and  imme- 
diately the  longing  which  he  had  kept  in  the 
background  came  to  the  front ;  also  the  prob- 
lem over  which  he  had  been  studying  for  weeks. 
Wouldn't  it  on  the  whole  have  been  better  to 
have  gotten  a  quarter  of  a  pound  of  tea  and 
spent  the  rest  of  the  money  in  sugar?  mother 
did  so  like  a  little  sugar  witn  her  tea.  But 
then,  a  quarter  of  a  pound  seen.ed  such  a  very 
little  bit,  and  the  winter  was  long  in  this  mount- 
ain region,  and  there  was  no  telling  when  he 
would  have  a  chance  to  get  any  more.  But  he 
wished,  O,  so  much !  that  he  knew  how  to  get 
just  a  little  sugar ;  that  would  make  the  present 
complete. 

"I  got  somethin'  else,"  said  Jim,  with  a 
curious  note  of  suppressed  excitement  in  his 
tones  ;  "  somethin'  for  you." 

"  For  me?  "  echoed  Teddy,  amazed. 

*'  Yes,  sir,  for  you ;  Teddy  Simpson  is  the 
name  on  the  box,  as  large  as  life." 

"On  the  box!"  In  his  astonishment  and 
excitement  all  that  Teddy  could  do  was  to  echo 
Jim's  words. 

"Yes,  sir,  on  the  box;  a  good-sized  box, 
and  as  heavy  as  though  it  had  been  stuffed  with 
lead.  Come  by  freight;  got  there  yesterday 
just  about  an  hour  before  I  drove  into  town ; 
come  all  the  way  from  New  York  State,  too." 

After  that,  the  quarter  of  a  mile  between 
Teddy  Simpson  and  home  seemed  endless.  A 
box  by  freight  for  him !  What  would  mother 


think,  and  the  neighbors !  Above  all,  what 
could  be  in  the  box? 

Before  it  was  half-unpacked  the  question  be- 
came what  was  not  in  it?  Two  suits  of  clothes 
for  Teddy,  two  new  dresses  for  his  mother — or 
dresses  quite  as  good  as  new  —  a  warm,  bright 
shawl,  and  a  fur  hood.  Shoes,  and  stockings, 
and  socks,  and  mittens,  and  oh !  books,  and 
papers,  and  pictures,  and  more  books.  Was 
ever  anything  so  wonderful?  Then  there  were 
toys  —  dolls,  and  balls,  and  tops,  and  wooden 
dogs,  and  wax  cats,  and  cloth  elephants  —  and 
some  little  bits  of  dresses  and  sacks  which  could 
fit  only  the  children  further  down  the  mountain. 
Teddy  felt  this,  even  before  he  discovered  that 
these  were  all  labeled,  ' '  For  Teddy  to  give  to 
his  friends,  the  little  Perkinses."  Moreover, 
there  was  a  little  leather  bag  in  the  very  bottom 
of  the  box,  drawn  together  by  a  bright  cord  and 
securely  tied,  which  when  opened  was  found  to 
contain  seventeen  bright  silver  dollars,  the  gifts 
of  the  cousins  and  aunts  and  uncles  for  Teddy 
to  use  as  he  thought  best.  Dp  you  want  to 
know  what  he  thought  of  first  ?  A  whole  pound 
of  sugar  to  go  with  that  half-pound  of  tea  which 
was  still  lying  snugly  in  his  overcoat  pocket, 
where  Teddy  meant  to  leave  it  until  the  next 
morning.  Such  a  box  as  that,  and  a  half 
pound  of  tea  in  the  bargain,  he  considered 
altogether  too  much  for  his  mother's  nerves  in 
cue  evening. 

Such  a  wonderful  morning  as  it  was  —  such 
a  wonderful  day,  indeed !  The  Perkinses  were 
hopelessly  wild  all  day,  and  their  poor  little 
half-discouraged  mother  was  not  much  better. 

The  next  time  teamster  Jim  went  over  the 
snow  road  between  the  mountains  he  carried  a 
fat  little  letter  written  in  Teddy's  best  round 
hand  —  and  he  was  by  no  means  a  bad  writer ; 
his  mother  had  taught  him.  In  this  letter  he 
described  to  the  cousins  just  how  he  stood  by 
the  rocks  and  waited  for  Jim  Coon's  team,  just 
how  surprised  he  was,  just  how  the  box  was 
opened,  just  what  he  and  his  mother  exclaimed 
as  long  as  they  had  any  breath  for  exclaiming, 
just  how  the  Perkinses  acted  the  next  day  —  at 
least  as  well  as  language  would  do  it  —  and 
altogether  wrote  so  surprising  a  letter  that 
Hortense  said,  drawing  a  long, sigh  of  delight : 


A     LONG     CHRISTMAS. 


"  Isn't  it  lovely?  Hasn't  this  been  a  long 
Christmas?  It  is  better  than  the  Christmas- 
tree  a  great  deal,  isn't  it  ?  " 

"It  is  the  jolliest  Christmas  I  ever  had,"  said 
Holly. 

' '  And  it  has  taught  us  how  to  have  some 
more  jolly  ones,"  said  Tom. 

As  for  Tom's  father,  he  said:  "That  boy 
Teddy  is  a  smart  fellow ;  he  ought  to  have  an 


education.  There  ought  to  be  a  good  school 
out  there.  Why  wouldn't  that  be  a  good  place 
for  us  to  send  Richard  Winston  ?  He  would  be 
a  grand  fellow  to  work  among  just  such  people." 
So  the  "long  Christmas"  is  in  a  fair  way  to 
grow  longer,  you  see,  for  every  cousin  in  the 
three  homes  is  interested  in  Tom's  father's  idea, 
aud  so  is  Richard  Winston. 

PANSY. 


HE  STOOD   STILL   IN   THE   MOONLIGHT   TO   THIJJK.' 


SOMETHING    FOR    MAMMA. 


SOMETHING  FOR  MAMMA. 


OU  want  it  for  Christmas,  of 
course ;  and  you  are  a  little 
girl  who  has  very  few  pennies 
of  your  own  to  spend;  and 
mamma,  like  other  mammas, 
thinks  that  something  which 
her  daughter  has  made  with  her  own  hands  is 
of  far  more  value  than  an  article,  however  fine, 
bought  at  a  store.  You  have  been  disconso- 
late for  several  days  because  there  are  so  few 
4 'things"  which  you  know  how  to  make,  and 
because  you  have  so  little  money  with  which 
to  buy  material.  Take  heart,  my  dear,  there 
are  happy  surprises  in  store  for  mamma. 

How  much  money  have  you  for  this  particu- 
lar gift?  "Twenty-five  cents,"  and  you  blush 
and  are  troubled,  and  say  in  your  heart,  "Just 
as  though  anything  worth  having  could  be  made 
for  twenty-five  cents !  "  Why,  my  dear,  that 
is  enough  and  to  spare.  Did  you  notice  the 
table  mats  yesterday  at  dinner?  They  are 
made  of  bits  of  oiled  wood  ingeniously  put 
together,  and  in  their  prime  were  pretty,  and 
rather  expensive ;  but  they  are  sadly  worn  now 
—  so  much  so,  indeed,  that  Hannah  declared 
only  yesterday  that  she  did  not  know  what  to 
do  with  the  things ;  they  were  so  much  worn 
that  she  could  not  wash  them  any  more.  She 
knew  what  she  would  like  to  do  with  them ;  if 
she  had  her  way  she  would  ' '  chuck  "  them  into 
the  fire. 

What  I  propose  is,  that  you  plan  your  Christ- 
mas present  so  that  Hannah  can  have  the  pleas- 
ure of  doing  just  that  thing. 

What  you  want  is  a  ball  of  macreme  cord,  of 
a  delicate  creamy  tint,  price  fifteen  cents,  and 
a  ball  of  candle  wicking  for  three  cents,  or  pos- 
sibly five,  though  it  ought  not  to  be  if  your 
merchants  are  up  with  city  prices.  Positively 
that  is  all.  O,  yes !  a  crochet  needle,  large 
size ;  but  that  of  course  you  have ;  or  if  not,  I 
am  almost  certain  that  mamma,  or  better  still 
grandma,  will  make  you  a  present  of  one,  be- 
cause of  the  many  useful  things  you  can  make 
with  it ;  still,  if  you  wish  to  be  entirely  inde- 
pendent, why,  buy  one,  for  five  cents  surely  (a 
large  price) ,  and  you  are  ready. 


Hold  the  end  of  candle  wicking  over  your 
left  forefinger  and  crochet  the  macreme  cord 
over  it  with  what  is  known  as  the  long  stitch ; 
it  is  very  rapid  work  after  you  have  once  mas- 
tered the  stitch,  and  before  you  realize  it,  you 
will  have  a  long,  long  rope  of  creamy  cord. 
Do  not  pull  hard  on  the  crochet  cord,  but  let 
the  work  lie  up  loose  and  fluffy.  When  you 
think  you  have  enough  done  to  experiment  with, 
get  your  neat  little  work  box,  thread  a  needle 
with  strong  cotton  —  number  thirty  being  a  very 
good  size  —  curl  the  beginning  of  your  cord  into 
a  graceful  circle,  and  take  firm  stitches  on  the 
under  side  to  hold  it  there ;  then  another  coil, 
and  another,  sewed  neatly  and  firmly,  and  con- 
tinue until  you  have  a  table  mat  large  enough 
round  to  take  the  vegetable  dishes,  or  the  soup 
tureen,  or  whatever  you  wish  to  set  on  it.  Then 
cut  off  the  supply,  fasten  the  end  firmly,  and 
finish  the  whole  with  a  pretty  crocheted  scallop 
all  around.  Just  compare  that  mat  with  the 
slippery,  stained  wood  one  with  frayed  edges ! 
You  admire  it  now,  but  what  will  it  be  when 
Hannah  has  washed  and  starched  it  until  it 
holds  its  shape  as  firmly  as  the  wooden  one, 
and  yet  is  flexible  and  graceful?  More  of 
them  ?  Certainly,  an  entire  set,  varying  in  size 
to  match  the  uses  to  which  the}7  are  to  be  put. 

Have  I  made  a  mistake  ?  Are  your  vegetable 
dishes  all  oval?  Well,  my  dear,  your  table 
water  pitcher  is  not,  I  am  sure.  Just  use  this 
first  one  for  it,  and  start  your  next  sewing  with 
an  oval  shape  instead  of  a  circle ;  it  must  be  a 
very  small  oval  for  the  beginning  —  not  over 
three  quarters  of  an  inch  in  length  —  else  your 
mat  will  grow  too  long  for  its  width.  Your 
best  plan  would  be  to  experiment  a  little.  Lay 
the  work  loosely,  confined  by  a  mere  basting 
stitch,  and  see  whether,  when  the  mat  has  grown 
as  long  as  your  paper  pattern,  it  will  be  of  the 
proper  width.  You  will  not  find  the  planning 
difficult ;  it  merely  needs  the  patience  and  care- 
fulness which  I  feel  sure  you  will  bestow ;  and 
the  result  will  be  an  entire  nest  of  pretty  and 
useful  mats  which  will  be  a  delightful  surprise 
to  mamma  on  Christmas  morning,  and  a  com- 
fort to  her  as  well  as  to  Hannah  throughout  the 
year.  Try  it,  and  be  sure  to  let  me  hear  how 
you  succeeded.  PANSY. 


CHRISTMAS    EVENING. 


ETHEL     CARLISLE'S     FACE. 


ETHEL   CARLISLE'S   FACE. 


(Character  Studies.) 


CAN  see  her  now  as  she  looked 
to  me  that  winter  morning 
wrapped  in  furs,  ready  all  but 
her  fur  cap  to  brave  the  frosty 
air,  when  she  held  up  in  tri- 
umph a  spray  of  brilliant 
bloom,  and  said :  "  Look,  Aunt  Myra,  did  you 
ever  see  anything  prettier  than  that  from  a  con- 
servatory ?  And  they  blossomed  in  my  window- 
seat  !  "  I  was  not  her  auntie,  but  was  so  old 
and  intimate  a  friend  of  the  family  that  the 
children  had  adopted  me. 

"Hasn't  Ethel  a  beautiful  face?"  I  said  to 
Miss  Margaret,  another  friend  of  the  family, 
who,  with  myself,  was  a  guest  at  the  Carlisles'. 
"It  is  so  very  bright.  Did  you  notice  what  a 
peculiar  brightness  there  is  to  her  eyes  when 
she  smiles?  And  she  has  a  lovely  smile." 

Miss  Margaret  looked  grave,  almost  troubled. 
"It  is  a  sweeter  face  than  it  will  be  in  a  few 
years,  I  am  afraid,"  she  said,  shaking  her  head, 
which  already  had  threads  of  silver  in  it.  Miss 
Margaret  was  a  wise  sweet  woman,  not  given 
to  croaking,  so  I  waited  somewhat  anxiously  to 
hear  her  words.  "Ethel  is  cultivating  habits 
which  will  spoil  her  face,"  she  said;  "I  have 
not  been  here  before  for  two  years,  and  I  notice 
a  very  decided  change  in  it  since  then.  She 
was  one  of  the  sweetest  little  children  I  ever 
knew,  but  if  you  watch  through  only  one  day 
you  will  discover  what  I  mean.  Unless  some- 
thing occurs  to  change  her  habits,  there  will  be 
another  spoiled  face  in  the  world  in  a  few  years." 

I  had  been  in  the  house  but  a  day,  and  had 
been  absent  from  the  country  for  more  than  two 
years,  so  I  knew  very  little  of  the  younger  Car- 
lisles. Ethel  had  always  been  my  favorite,  and 
it  made  me  sad  and  a  trifle  annoyed  to  hear 
Miss  Margaret's  words.  I  felt  sure  she  must 
have  grown  over  particular. 

Of  course,  with  such  a  warning,  it  would  have 
been  impossible  not  to  have  watched.  Long 
before  night  I  knew  what  Miss  Margaret  meant. 

"Where  in  the  world  is  my  French  Gram- 
mar?" I  heard  Ethel's  voice,  with  a  very  sharp 


note  in  it,  rasping  through  the  hall.  "I  left 
it  on  the  dining-room  table  while  I  ran  out  to 
speak  to  Nellie,  and  somebody  has  taken  it.  I 
declare,  I  cannot  lay  down  a  thing  for  a  second 
and  find  it  again.  I  do  wish  Ann  could  be 
taught  to  let  my  books  alone !  " 

'"Indeed,  Miss  Ethel,  I  have  not  touched  a 
book  this  morning ;  I  have  not  dusted  in  the 
dining-room  yet."  This  was  Ann's  voice  ;  then 
Ethel's,  by  no  means  sweetened :  "  That  is  per- 
fect nonsense,  Ann ;  I  left  it  here  not  two  min- 
utes ago,  and  now  it  is  gone.  What  do  you 
think  could  have  become  of  it?  It  couldn't 
walk  off  without  hands." 

"  Ethel !  "  from  Mrs.  Carlisle,  in  a  reproving 
tone,  "do  not  speak  so  to  Ann,  daughter;  she 
has  not  been  in  the  dining-room  since  breakfast." 

' '  Well,  but,  mother,  rny  French  Grammar  is 
gone  that  I  just  laid  there,  and  the  bell  is  ring- 
ing ;  I  shall  be  late,  and  I  think  it  is  just  too 
bad !  "  There  was  an  ugly  frown  all  over  the 
fair  forehead,  and  a  sharp  and  at  the  same  time 
whining  tone  to  the  voice  which  had  been  so 
sweet  but  a  little  while  before. 

"Ethel,"  called  her  older  sister  Nannie  from 
the  hall  above,  "  here  is  your  book ;  you  left  it 
on  the  hat  rack  a  few  minutes  ago." 

Away  went  Ethel  without  a  word  of  explana- 
tion to  mother  or  to  Ann,  and  we  heard  her 
voice,  still  sharp,  saying  to  Nannie,  "Why 
couldn't  you  have  told  me  before,  and  not  kept 
me  hunting  half  the  morning  ?  " 

I  heard  the  mother  sigh,  and  was  sorry  for 
her,  and  glad  that  the  alcove  curtains  shaded 
me  from  view,  and  that  I  had  a  book  in  my 
hand  and  could  appear  not  to  have  heard. 

Ethel  came  home  at  lunch  time,  and  was  out 
of  sorts  with  the  soup  because  it  tasted  of 
onions,  and  with  the  squash  because  it  had 
been  peppered.  She  said  she  wished  anybody 
ever  consulted  her  tastes,  and  she  would  just 
as  soon  think  of  puffing  tobacco  smoke  in  the 
face  of  people  as  of  eating  onions  for  them  to 
smell  afterwards.  She  scolded  her  brother 
Tom  for  forgetting  the  music  he  was  to  call 
for ;  and  when  he  said  he  was  very  sorry,  and 
it  was  because  he  had  so  many  important  errands 
for  his  father  that  he  forgot  it,  she  tossed  her 
head  and  said  sharply,  "  Oh !  you  needn't 


ETHEL   HELD  UP  A    SPKAY   OF   BRILLIANT    RT.OOM. 


MOTHER  DUNLAP'S  STORY. 


explain;  of  course  you  would  forget  what  I 
wanted ;  I'm  of  no  consequence." 

In  short,  with  my  eyes  opened  as  they  had 
been  by  Miss  Margaret  I  could  not  help  seeing 
that  Ethel  spoiled  the  sweetness  of  almost  every 
room  she  entered  that  day,  and  complained  of 
unkindness  or  of  discomforts  at  every  turn. 
Yet  at  family  worship,  when  she  played, 

"Sun  of  my  soul,  thou  Saviour  dear," 

and  led  the  singing  with  a  very  sweet  voice,  she 
looked  like  an  angel.  It  broke  my  heart  to 
hear  her,  not  ten  minutes  afterwards,  scolding 
Baby  Frank  for  overturning  her  spool  basket. 
"You  are  just  a  little  nuisance!"  she  said, 
sharp-voiced  again ;  "I  think  mamma  ought  to 
whip  you.  "Well,  mamma,  I  do,"  in  response 
to  a  reproving  look  from  her  mother ;  ' '  you 
are  just  spoiling  him,  I  think." 

"Is  it  possible  that  this  is  a  fair  specimen 
of  that  child's  days  ?  "  I  asked  Miss  Margaret, 
as  we  went  down  the  hall  together. 

"I  am  afraid  it  is,"  said  Miss  Margaret. 
"  She  is  learning  to  frown  and  fret  over  the 
veriest  trifles,  and  to  answer  even  her  mother 
rudely,  as  you  noticed  just  now.  How  many 
years  of  such  living  will  it  take  to  utterly  spoil 
the  pretty  face  ?  Isn't  it  strange  that  a  young 
girl  who  believes  herself  such  an  ardent  admirer 
of  beauty,  should  deliberately  undertake  to 
spoil  the  lovely  work  of  art  which  God  gave  her 
to  take  care  of?"  MYRA  SPAFFORD. 


ORIGIN   OF   A  NEW  ENGLAND 
INDUSTRY. 

IN  1798  Betsey  Metcalf,  of  Dedham,  Mass., 
made  a  bonnet  out  of  oat  straw,  fashion- 
ing it  after  an  English  bonnet  then  very  fash- 
ionable. She  flattened  the  straw  with  the  blade 
of  her  scissors,  spKt  it  with  her  thumb  nail, 
braided  it  into  the  requisite  number  of  strands 
and  bleached  it  by  holding  it  over  the  vapor  of 
burning  sulphur.  She  afterward  taught  the 
young  ladies  of  her  vicinity  how  to  do  it,  and 
thus  laid  the  foundation  of  the  extensive  busi- 
ness now  carried  on  in  straw  hats  in  New 
England.  —  Selected. 


MOTHER   DUNLAP'S   STORY. 

F  my  father  and  mother  had 
been  at  home  it  would  never 
have  happened,  but  they  started 
in  the  morning  as  soon  as  they 
could  see  the  road  for  my  Aunt 
Margaret's,  taking  Emeline 
with  them.  I  remember  just  how  I  felt  when  I 
saw  them  drive  from  our  gate  with  Emeline  sit- 
ting between  them ;  it  seemed  so  terrible,  some- 
how, to  think  of  her  sitting  in  my  place,  because 
I  was  the  one  who  always  sat  between  father 
and  mother.  But  Cousin  Emeline  was  Aunt 
Margaret's  little  girl,  and  word  had  come  that 
Aunt  Margaret  was  very  sick,  and  that  Emeliue 
must  be  brought  home  as  fast  as  possible ;  so 
of  course  they  started,  though  there  was  every 
sign  of  a  storm,  Uncle  Peter  said,  and  he  hardly 
ever  made  a  mistake  "in  the  weather.  He  was 
our  "signal  service"  in  those  days.  Cousin 
Edward  was  at  our  house,  too ;  he  was  Uncle 
Edward's  son,  and  always  spent  his  short  vaca- 
tion with  us,  because  his  folks  lived  too  far 
away  for  him  to  go  home.  He  was  thirteen 
years  old,  and  thought  he  knew  all  there  was  to 
know  in  life.  He  was  a  smart  fellow,  and 
would  have  been  real  nice  if  he  had  not  felt  so 
sure  of  it  himself.  Father  and  mother  had  not 
been  gone  an  hour  when  he  began  to  plan  to 
drive  to  town  to  the  New  Year  festival  which 
was  to  be  held  in  one  of  the  churches,  and  take 
me  along.  Kirke  said  everything  in  the  world 
to  hinder  us  from  going ;  he  thought  it  was  go- 
ing to  storm. 

"Who's  afraid  of  a  few  snowflakes?"  said 
Edward.  "I  want  Nannie  to  have  a  cheery 
time  for  New  Year's ;  it  is  dreadful  dull  for  her 
with  Auntie  and  Uncle  both  gone." 

Kirke  was  a  boy  who  did  chores  at  our  house 
for  his  board,  and  went  to  school ;  we  lived  two 
miles  nearer  the  schoolhouse  than  his  mother 
did,  and  they  were  pretty  poor,  and  Kirke  earn- 
ing his  board  away  from  home  helped  them  a 
good  deal.  We  all  loved  Kirke ;  he  was  a 
good  sensible  boy,  and  stood  at  the  head  of  his 
classes  in  school.  But  I  did  not  approve  of 
him  that  day ;  I  wanted  to  go  to  town.  I  was 
a  silly  little  thing  in  those  days,  not  afraid  of 


MOTHER  DUNLAP'S  STORY. 


anything ;  I  laughed  at  the  storm  just  as  Edward 
did. 

"It  will  be  more  than  a  few  flakes,"  Kirke 
said,  shaking  his  head  gravely;  "I  think  we 
are  going  to  have  the  worst  storm  of  the  sea- 
son." Then  Edward  began  to  make  fun  of 
him — call  him  Uncle  Peter,  and  ask  what  kind 
of  a  winter  it  was  forty  years  ago;  because 
Uncle  Peter  was  always  going  back  to  old  times 
and  telling  stories  about  the  weather.  Kirke 
kept  good-natured,  and  laughed  with  me  over 
Edward's  speeches,  but  for  all  that  he  did  not 
stop  trying  to  keep  us  from  going  to  town. 

"Look  here,"  he  said,  "I  have  a  tip-top 
plan  for  this  afternoon.  Mrs.  Baker  gave  me 
a  jug  of  molasses  and  some  splendid  ears  of 
pop-corn  to  take  home :  suppose  you  and  Nan- 
nie walk  out  home  with  me,  and  we  will  pop 
some  corn,  and  make  candy  with  hickory  nuts 
in?  We've  got  a  bushel  of  nuts  stored  away 
in  the  garret,  and  we'll  have  no  end  of  fun. 
Nannie  can  stay  all  night  —  she  has  done  it 
before,  you  know  —  and  sleep  with  my  sister 
Mary,  and  you  and  I  will  turn  in  with  little 
Billy  up  in  the  attic ;  he  likes  company." 

The  picture  looked  quite  inviting  to  me ;  I 
had  often  been  out  to  Kirke's  house,  for  my 
father  and  mother  liked  their  family  very  much, 
and  were  always  willing  to  have  me  play  with 
their  children. 

But  Edward  was  not  to  be  persuaded.  "No, 
you  don't,  old  fellow,"  he  said;  "candy  and 
nuts  are  first-rate  things  for  any  night  in  the 
year  but  New  Year's  ;  a  fellow  needs  something 
extra  then.  I've  set  my  heart  on  seeing  the 
festival  tables,  and  watching  them  give  out  the 
prizes,  and  I'm  going ;  my  uncle  said  three 
days  ago  that  I  could." 

"But  he  did  not  kndw  that  it  was  going  to 
snow,"  Kirke  said,  more  and  more  anxious. 
"Really,  Edward,  I  do  not  think  Mr.  and  Mrs. 
Baker  would  like  to  have  you  take  Nannie  out 
when  it  looks  so  much  like  a  storm."  Then 
Edward  got  angry  and  told  Kirke  to  mind  his 
own  business,  that  we  were  not  left  in  his 
charge  at  least,  and  that  he  should  do  as  he 
liked ;  and  Kirke  was  to  remember  that  Mr. 
and  Mrs.  Baker  were  his  own  uncle  and  aunt, 
and  that  he  might  be  supposed  to  know  as  much 


about  what  they  would  like  as  a  stranger  could. 
Kirke  said  no  more,  but  he  looked  very  much 
troubled.  I  was  half -disposed  to  give  up  the 
plan,  but  Edward  laughed  at  me.  The  good- 
natured  housekeeper  in  whose  care  we  were  left 
never  paid  much  attention  to  the  weather,  and 
made  no  objection  to  my  going.  I  don't  know 
but  that  it  would  have  come  out  all  right  even 
then,  if  Edward's  pride  had  not  got  the  upper 
hand.  He  took  a  notion  to  drive  to  town  by 
the  old  road. 

"O,  don't!"  I  urged;  "you  do  not  know 
that  way  at  all,  and  Uncle  Peter  said  this  morn- 
ing that  the  wind  last  night  must  have  drifted 
the  snow  on  the  old  road." 

' '  Poh !  "  said  Edward,  ' '  Uncle  Peter  is  an 
old  croaker ;  he's  an  old  man,  Nannie,  and  al- 
ways makes  mountains  out  of  molehills.  The 
wind  will  be  at  our  backs  part  of  the  time  on 
the  old  road,  and  I'm  going  that  way.  What 
if  I  have  not  driven  it?  The  horse  won't  get 
lost,  if  you  think  I  will." 

Well,  we  started,  and  for  the  first  ten  min- 
utes everything  was  right;  then  we  began  to 
come  to  drifts,  and  I  was  dreadfully  scared. 
We  almost  turned  over  two  or  three  times.  I 
kept  squealing  out,  and  that  provoked  Edward. 
"Keep  still,"  he  would  say;  "I  did  not  know 
you  were  such  a  little  coward."  To  make  mat- 
ters worse,  it  began  to  snow  harder  than  I  ever 
saw  it  before,  and  grew  so  dark  that  we  could 
hardly  see  our  way.  We  had  been  riding  a 
good  while,  and  ought  to  have  reached  the 
town,  but  no  sign  «f  a  town  was  to  be  seen. 

After  a  while  Edward  made  up  his  mind  that 
he  must  have  taken  the  wrong  turn,  and  said  he 
was  going  back  a  little  way  to  see  if  he  had. 
He  tried  to  turn  around,  but  the  wind  blew  so 
that  the  snow  blinded  his  eyes ;  and  it  was  not 
a  good  place  for  turning  around,  any  way. 
The  first  thing  I  knew  over  went  the  sleigh, 
and  I  was  in  a  snowdrift !  That  was  not  the 
worst  of  it,  either ;  the  runner  of  the  sleigh 
snapped  as  if  it  had  been  a  pipe-stem.  Good 
old  Jim  stood  still,  fortunately.  But  there  we 
were  with  a  driving  storm,  with  a  broken  sleigh  ! 
I  do  not  think  I  was  ever  so  glad  of  anything 
in  my  life  as  I  was  to  hear  Kirke's  voice  above 
the  roar  of  the  wind. 


MOTHER  DUNLAP'S  STORY. 


' '  What  in  the  world  are  you  doing  there  ?  " 
he  said,  bounding  along  over  drifts  of  snow. 
4 '  Is  Nannie  hurt  ?  If  she  is  not  all  right  never 
mind  anything  else.  Oh !  the  sleigh  is  broken. 
How  came  you  to  be  on  this  road?  This  is  not 
the  way  to  town ;  it  is  an  old  wood  road  that 
was  used  early  in  the  winter,  but  it  is  all  snowed 
up ;  you  could  not  have  got  much  farther ;  you 
ought  to  have  turned  to  the  right  a  mile  below 
here ;  I  thought  you  knew  the  way.  Now  I'll 
tell  you  what  will  have  to  be  done.  Nannie 
must  go  to  our  house  —  it  is  less  than  a  quarter 


nie  to  your  house  I'll  get  this  rig  home  myself 
and  take  care  of  Jim ;  it  is  not  fair  that  you 
should  lose  your  New  Year's  fun  to  help  me 
out.  I'll  foot  it  out  to  your  house  if  it  is  not 
too  late  after  I  have  been  to  see  Mr.  Ormstead 
about  mending  this  sleigh ;  but  I'm  not  going 
to  let  you  go  for  me  a  single  step." 

No  amount  of  coaxing  could  turn  him  from 
his  purpose.  So  at  last  Kirke,  after  helping 
him  to  tie  up  the  runner  with  some  twine  which 
they  found  in  their  pockets,  tucked  me  under  his 
arm,  and  we  marched  off  to  their  little  house. 


"THERE  WE  WEI;K,  WITH  A  BROKEN  SLEIGH!" 


of  a  mile  from  here  —  and  I'll  get  a  rope  and 
tie  up  that  sleigh  somehow,  enough  to  get  it  and 
Jim  back  to  the  stable ;  then  I'll  tell  your  folks 
that  you  are  going  to  stay  at  our  house  all 
night — shall  I?" 

He  seemed  to  have  forgotten  how  disagree- 
ably Edward  had  spoken  to  him,  and  was  just 
as  nice  as  could  be.  But  Edward's  cheeks  were 
pretty  red.  "No,  sir,"  he  said  firmly;  "I 
started  out  to  have  my  own  way  and  ought  to 
have  the  benefit  of  it.  If  you  will  take  Nan- 


Their  kitchen  was  the  cleanest,  brightest, 
cheeriest  place  you  ever  saw,  and  the  molasses 
taffy  was  splendid.  I  had  a  lovely  time ;  but 
there  was  such  a  dreadful  storm  that  Edward 
could  not  get  back  that  night,  and  Jim  had 
lamed  himself  somehow  in  stumbling  through 
deep  drifts ;  and  it  cost  four  dollars  to  mend 
the  sleigh,  which  Edward  had  to  pay,  because 
my  father  said  he  did  not  believe  in  boys  hav- 
ing their  own  way  and  not  being  willing  to  take 
the  consequences.  To  be  sure  he  gave  the 


THEY  STARTED  FOR  AUNT  MARGARET'S. 


THEY  STARTED  FOR  AUNT  MARGARET'S.     ("  Mother  Dunlap's  Story.") 


HUNGER    AND    THIRST. 


money  back  again,  and  more  too,  when  Ed- 
ward's next  birthday  came.  But  I  don't  think 
Edward  ever  forgot  the  lesson.  I  ought  to 
have  been  punished  too,  for  I  pretended  to 
agree  with  Edward,  even  when  I  thought  he 
was  foolish ;  but  some  way  I  slipped  through 
the  trouble  and  had  all  the  pleasure,  just  as 
girls  often  do,  I  think. 

"Mother,"  said  little  Cathie  Dunlap, 
"father's  middle  name  is  Kirke;  did  he  have 
anything  to  do  with  the  nice  boy  who  took  care 
of  you?" 

"Why,  yes,"  said  Mother  Dunlap,  laughing, 
' '  come  to  think  of  it,  his  full  name  was  William 
Kirke  Dunlap." 

MYRA  SPAFFORD. 


HUNGER  AND   THIRST. 

HERE  is  a  story  of  a  little  boy 
who  was  very  fond  of  angling, 
and  who  one  day  told  his  grand- 
father that  he  had  caught  a  fish 
as  large  as  a  horse. 

"Look  here,  Tom,"  said  the 
old  man,  "  don't  you  know  it's  wrong  for  a  lit- 
tle boy  like  you  to  tell  such  a  big  untruth  ?  You 
are  not  six  years,  are  you?  " 

"No,"  said  Tommy;  "I  am  only  five,  and 
I'll  not  do  it  again.  After  this  I'm  going  to 
tell  only  little  bits  of  fish  stories." 

That  boy  often  reminds  one  of  people  who 
talk  about  being  "temperate"  and  "moderate" 
in  the  use  of  things  which  they  ought  to  let  alone 
altogether.  A  little  glass  of  strong  drink,  a  lit- 
tle cigar,  are  just  as  certainly  wrong  as  a  little 
untruth. 

^  But  how  can  we  know  what  is  good  or  bad 
for  the  body?  The  answer  is,  that  our  body 
itself  will  tell  us.  The  body  has  a  conscience 
as  well  as  the  soul.  Put  your  hand  into  a  pot- 
ful  of  warm  water,  and  your  hand  will  at  once 
let  you  know  if  the  water  is  too  hot.  Go  out 
sleigh-riding  in  a  light  straw  hat  on  a  cold  win- 
ter morning,  and  your  ears  will  soon  ask  for  a 
warmer  cover.  After  a  laborer  has  been  hard 
at  work  for  eight  or  ten  hours,  his  body  will  ask 
for  rest.  Make  a  child  sit  down  in  a  chair  with- 


out moving  for  six  hours,  and  its  body  will  ask 
for  exercise.  Our  body  soon  lets  us  know  if  a 
coat  or  a  shoe  is  too  tight,  or  if  a  burden  is  too 
heavy.  And  it  can  just  as  certainly  be  relied 
upon  to  warn  us  against  unwholesome  food.  It 
is  true  that  we  can  silence  that  voice  of  our 
body's  conscience.  After  a  man  has  swallowed 
a  good  many  glasses  of  bad  drink  or  smoked  a 
cigar  every  morning  for  a  couple  of  weeks,  he 
at  last  gets  " used  to  it,"  as  we  call  it;  his  na- 
ture gets  changed,  and  at  last  he  is  unable  to 
let  such  things  alone.  But  at  the  first  trial  our 
sense  of  taste  will  plainly  warn  us  against  un- 
wholesome food  and  drink.  Before  an  apple  is 
ripe  it  tastes  sour.  The  taste  of  over- ripe  or 
spoiled  fruit  gets  more  and  more  disagreeable. 

An  Italian  naturalist,  during  his  travels  in 
Southern  Africa,  noticed  that  a  little  pet  mon- 
key of  his  never  made  a  mistake  in  choosing  its 
food,  and  could  tell  poisonous  herbs  and  berries 
from  good  ones  the  moment  he  tasted  them. 
The  traveler  made  that  little  creature  his  kitchen 
master,  as  he  called  it,  and  always  let  it  try  a 
bit  of  every  kind  of  food  that  was  offered  to 
him  for  sale.  "If  Jocko  ate  a  spoonful  of 
honey  and  stretched  out  his  hand  for  more,"  he 
writes,  "I  was  satisfied  that  it  was  worth  buy- 
ing ;  if  the  little  chap  grinned  and  flung  the 
sample  away,  I  felt  sure  that  the  bees  must 
have  gathered  their  honey  from  poisonous  flow- 
ers. Jocko  never  made  mistakes  in  such  things, 
and  that  our  own  people  blundered  so  often 
might  be  explained  by  the  fact  that  we  have 
blunted  our  sense  of  taste  with  strong  drink 
and  hot  spices." 

A  boy  who  has  been  brought  up  on  perfectly 
wholesome  food  can  tell  injurious  things  almost 
as  quick  as  that  little  monkey.  He  will  dislike 
the  taste  of  sharp  pepper  sauces,  of  picklec,  oi 
strong  cheese,  of  spoiled  meat,  and  will  not  bo 
apt  to  mistake  a  bitter  swamp  berry  for  a ' 
huckleberry. 

Our  stomach  also  lets  us  know  when  we 
should  stop  eating.  In  that  case,  too,  it  is  not 
safe  to  disregard  the  warnings  of  our  bodily 
conscience.  If  a  boy  keeps  eating,  just  to 
while  time  away,  after  he  feels  that  he  has  had 
enough,  and  after  his  stomach  has  asked  him 
again  and  again  to  stop,  his  nature  at  last 


HUNGER    AND    THIRST. —  WOULD    AND     SHOULD. 


changes,  and  he  wants  to  be  stuffing  himself  all 
the  time.  I  knew  a  little  chap  of  ten  years  who 
seemed  to  think  it  a  pity  to  lose  a  chance  for 
gorging  himself,  and  who  had  to  be  watched  like 
a  tricky  cat  to  keep  him  from  slipping  into  his 
mother's  pantry  and  helping  himself  to  all  the 
good  things  in  sight.  On  his  way  to  school  he 
would  stop  to  buy  a  package  of  peanuts  or  pick 
up  a  pocketful  of  apples  on  the  outside  of  an 
orchard,  and  when  he  came  home  for  dinner  he 
ate  away  as  if  nothing  had  happened.  All  his 
schoolmates  called  him  "  Glutton  Joe." 

Such  gluttons  are  apt  to  think  that  they  are 
getting  more  fun  out  of  life  than  other  people. 
The  truth  is,  that  they  hardly  ever  know  an  hour 
of  real  happiness.  They  feel  dull  and  weary ; 
they  become  too  sluggish  to  play ;  they  take  no 
interest  in  their  studies,  and  drop  a  new  book 
or  new  paper  after  a  short  look  at  the  pictures ; 
they  would  rather  not  know  the  end  of  a  pretty 
story  than  go  to  the  trouble  of  reading  it  through. 
They  feel  drowsy  as  soon  as  the  weather  gets  a 
little  warm,  but  when  they  go  to  sleep  their  rest 
is  broken  by  ugly  dreams.  Glutton  Joe  had  no 
friends ;  he  was  so  cross  and  lazy  that  nobody 
wanted  him  for  a  playmate. 

An  old  fisherman  once  told  me  that  it  was 
worth  while  going  out  sailing  in  bad,  chilly 
weather,  just  for  the  fun  of  getting  home  again 
and  taking  a  rest  in  a  warm  chimney-corner, 
and  I  have  often  thought  that  many  people 
would  find  it  worth  while  to  fast  once  in  a 
while,  when  they  begin  to  complain  that  they 
cannot  enjoy  their  meals.  After  a  day's  exer- 
cise in  the  woods  and  mountains  the  plainest 
food  tastes  well.  A  supper  of  bread,  milk  and 
huckleberries  tastes  better  to  the  poor  Tennessee 
mountain  boy,  who  has  been  out  herding  cows 
all  day,  than  a  banquet  of  thirty  dishes  tastes 
to  a  rich  merchant  who  has  not  yet  digested  his 
last  meal.  There  is  no  danger  in  an  occasional 
fast,  though  some  people  seem  to  think  it  a 
misfortune  •  to  miss  one  of  their  three  daily 
meals.  There  was  a  time  when  rich  and  poor 
thought  it  enough  to  eat  one  good  meal  a  day. 
The  old  Romans  and  Greeks  ate  a  biscuit  and 
perhaps  half  a  handful  of  dried  fruit  in  the 
morning,  and  then  did  not  eat  again  till  they 
had  finished  their  day's  work,  when  they  took  a 


bath,  changed  their  dress,  and  then  sat  down  to 
a  good  supper.  An  Indian  hunter  thinks  noth- 
ing of  going  a  day  without  any  food  at  all.  A 
few  years  ago  an  American  physician  thought 
it  worth  while  to  try  how  long  a  man  could  fast 
without  hurting  himself.  People  thought  he  was 
crazy,  and  told  him  he  would  kill  himself  in  less 
than  a  week.  He  made  no  reply,  and  his  friends 
changed  their  opinion  when  he  had  fasted  forty 
days  and  nights.  Few  of  those  friends  would 
have  cared  to  try  their  own  pluck  in  that  man- 
ner, but  they  would  certainly  have  been  ashamed 
to  complain  of  an  accident  that  might  lose  them 
a  dinner  and  oblige  them  to  eat  their  principal 
meal  in  the  evening. 

But  though  there  can  be  no  harm  in  a  day's 
fast,  it  is  never  safe  to  suffer  for  want  of  drink- 
ing water.  The  same  doctor  who  passed  nearly 
six  weeks  without  a  mouthful  of  food,  took  a 
sip  of  cold  lemonade  every  few  hours,  and  it  is 
a  curious  fact  that  in  warm  weather  a  glass  of 
water  served  with  our  dinner  is  by  far  the  most 
important  part  of  the  meal.  Hunger,  or  what 
we  call  a  "good  appetite,"  often  stops  after  the 
mealtime  has  passed  without  a  chance  of  getting 
a  mouthful  of  food,  but  thirst  cannot  be  put  off 
in  that  way,  and  becomes  at  last  so  intolerable 
that  a  starved  traveler,  after  a  three  days'  jour- 
ney in  the  desert,  would  give  a  wagon-load  of 
food  for  a  drink  of  cold  water. 

FELIX  L.  OSWALD,  M.  D. 


A 


WOULD   AND   SHOULD. 

PUPIL   in   a   quiet   boarding-school   in 

displayed  some  time  since  no  small 

degree  of  industry  in  collecting  autographs  of 
distinguished  persons.  The  late  James  Rus- 
sell Lowell  was  one  of  the  number  addressed. 
The  address  to  him  was  in  substance :  "I 
would  be  very  much  obliged  for  your  auto- 
graph." The  response  contained  a  lesson  that 
many  besides  the  ambitious  pupil  have  not 
learned :  ' '  Pray  do  not  say  hereafter  '  I  would 
be  obliged.'  If  you  would  be  obliged,  be 
obliged  and  be  done  with  it.  Say  '  I  should 
be  obliged,'  and  oblige  yours  truly,  JAMES 
RUSSELL  LOWELL."  —  Selected. 


WESTMINSTER     ABBEY. 


WESTMINSTER   ABBEY. 


OU  see  it  is  most  beautiful  to 
the  eye,  though  you  Pausies  of 
the  great  cities  may  think  some 
of  your  churches  quite  as  hand- 
some. But  none  of  them  has 
such  a  history.  This  church 
was  founded — started,  as  some  would  say — 
more  than  a  thousand  years  ago !  Now  where's 
your  pretty  "meeting-house"  which  was  built 
only  last  year? 

Old  King  Siebert,  a  Saxon,  built  Westmin- 


For  years  and  years  the  English  kings  and 
queens  have  been  crowned  here,  and  buried, 
too,  nearly'  all.  Here  the  great  ones  of  the 
nation  are  buried  —  Shakespeare,  Milton,  Ben 
Jonson,  Wordsworth,  and  many  more,  the 
poets  in  the  "Poets'  Corner." 

Under  the  coronation  (crowning)  chair  is  the 
"  Stone  of  Scone,"  which  some  actually  say  is 
the  very  one  Jacob  laid  his  head  upon  when  he 
dreamed  !  However  that  be,  many  kings  have 
sat  upon  it  when  they  were  crowned. 

Of  course  you  will  search  out  the  ' '  Jerusalem 
Chamber"  when  you  visit  Westminster.  The 


A  VIEW  OF  WESTMINSTER    ABBEY. 


ster  Abbey,  and  many  of  the  Saxons  really 
believed  that  the  Apostle  Peter  dedicated  it, 
though  Peter  had  died  nearly  one  thousand 
years  before ! 

However,  this  building  is  not  the  very  same 
that  King  Siebert  put  up.  That  one  stood 
several  hundred  years,  when  Edward,  "  the 
Confessor,"  as  he  was  called,  rebuilt  it. 
Two  hundred  years  later  King  Henry  the 
Third  enlarged  it,  making  it  look  about  as  it 
now  is. 


Presbyterian  Church  began  in  this  chamber. 
Here,  too,  the  Bible  was  revised  (re-translated 
from  the  Hebrew  and  Greek). 

"  Why  do  they  call  it  the  '  Jerusalem 
Chamber'?" 

Probably  because  its  windows  came  from  that 
old  city,  and  the  Cedar  of  Lebanon  forms  the 
wainscoting. 

So  this  wonderful  building  has  served  many 
purposes  besides  that  of  a  church.  For  some 
hundred  years  the  House  of  Commons  (some- 


A    NEW    YEAR'S     TRIP.— ON     A    VISIT     TO     GERMANY. 


thing  like  our  House  of  Representatives)  made 
laws  here,  especially  laws  to  secure  the  liberties 
of  the  people. 

So  you  see  this  building  is  something  like 
Faneuil  Hall  of  Boston  and  Independence  Hall 
of  Philadelphia. 

What  a  book  Westminster  Abbey  could  make 
if  it  only  could  write.  But  somehow,  like  Nine- 
veh and  such  places,  it  will  rise  up  in  the  Judg- 
ment ;  then  what  will  it  say  of  the  people  who 
have  had  to  do  with  it?  L. 


A  NEW  YEAR'S   TRIP. 

O  Africa !  Yes ;  here  it  is  '92, 
January  1 ,  early  in  the  morning, 
and  we  are  in  the  sleigh,  and 
away  we  glide  over  the  snow 
to  Africa,  to  return  to-night. 

' '  Twenty  thousand  miles  in 
twelve  hours,  pooh !  and  going  to  hot  Africa  in 
a  sleigh ! " 

Suppose,  then,  we  just  think  we  are  there, 
and  we  are  there  to  all  intents  and  purposes. 

"Well,  here  goes;  I  think  I'm  in  South 
Africa  at  the  mouth  of  some  diamond  hole 
(tunnel),  January  1,  '92.  Of  course  I'm  there 
picking  up  diamonds  to  bring  back  for  New 
Year's  presents,  eh  ?  " 

Indeed  you  —  the  best  part  of  you,  your 
soul,  your  thought  —  are.  Just  wake  up  your 
imagination,  and  it's  about  the  same.  Now 
you  step  down  into  the  dark  hole.  Deeper  you 
descend,  as  down  a  steep  hill,  to  the  very  bot- 
tom—  eight  hundred  feet  or  more  —  through 
fields  full  of  diamonds. 

See,  just  before  you  dim  forms.  They  are 
naked  natives  digging.  They  fill  up  the  small 
car  of  dirt,  dotted  with  the  precious  stones,  and 
away  it  goes  up  and  out.  It  dumps  its  load 
and  returns.  It's  a  dirty,  dreadful  place. 
Every  little  while  there's  a  roar;  the  ground 
shakes.  There's  dynamite  blasting  to  loosen 
the  earth. 

Hurry  out  now ;  the  tunnel  may  cave  in,  and 
you'll  be  choked,  as  were  several  hundred  a  few 
years  ago. 

Here  we  are  outside.     See,  the  ground  is  two 


feet  deep  with  the  earth  carted  out.  They  are 
harrowing  it,  or  the  rain  is  falling  upon  it.  It 
is  crumbling  fine.  Ah !  see  the  shining  treas- 
ures. But  look  out !  Don't  put  one  into  your 
pocket  without  permission  ;  you  are  watched. 

Now  back  we  come  —  in  thought.  There ! 
have  not  we  had  one  of  the  brightest  New 
Year's  ? 

Thus  brighten  up  your  imagination  and  you 
need  not  be  bothering  yourself  forever  with  cars 
and  steamboats  and  ships  and  seasickness  and 
such  things  to  see  foreign  lands.  With  a  good 
book  of  travels  or  newspaper  you  can  just  trip 
over  there  —  to  Europe,  Asia  and  Africa  —  in 
a  moment,  and  see  all  you  can  carry  back  in  a 
few  more  moments,  and  be  home  to  tea  the 
same  day  to  show  (tell)  your  treasures  !  L. 


ON   A   VISIT   TO   GERMANY. 

ERE  we  are.    It  is  midwinter — 
' '  In  Maine  or  New  Hamp- 
shire or  Canada,  I  guess." 

Guess  again,  you  mistaken 
Pansy. 

"Norway,  then." 
Nor  Norway,  but  just  simply  in  Germany. 
"  Such  snow-storms  in  Germany?" 
Yes,   and  that  miss  with   umbrella  and   fat 
face  trudging  on  is  — 

"Fraulein,  I  dare  say.     Isn't  that,  or  some- 
thing like  it,  the  name  of  all  the  German  girls  ?  " 
Wouldn't  that  mix  things  in  a  family  of  six 
girls?     Think   of    a   mother  calling   each   one 
Fraulein ! 

But  that  girl  is  no  other  than  Bessie  — 
' '  Bessie  a  German  girl  ?     Never  heard  one 
called  that  in  all  my  life." 

Who  said  she  was  a  German  girl?  Can't 
one  be  in  Germany  and  not  be  a  German?  Do 
you  expect  to  turn  into  one  as  soon  as  you  get 
to —  "  Sweet  Bingen  on  the  Rhine,"  or  Frank- 
fort? Frankfort,  once  the  home  of  the  great 
poet,  Goethe,  some  of  whose  sayings  it  may 
make  your  dear  head  ache  to  understand. 
Frankfort,  once  a  free  city,  as  free  from  any 
king  or  great  ruler  as  —  the  United  States  is 
of  Mexico ;  a  queer,  bright  old  city  — 


ON    A    VISIT    TO    GERMANY.  — A    DELIGHTFUL    WRITER. 


"Bessie  !  Bessie  !  what  about  Bessie ?  Won't 
she  be  lost  in  Frankfort?  Who  is  she,  any 
how?" 

A  Pansy,  quite  likely  from  Boston,  by  that 
name,  on  a  visit  to  Germany.  She  will  spend 
a  few  months  in  Frankfort,  studying  German 
and  seeing  the  German  sights,  among  them 
Luther's  house. 

' '  But  you  do  not  explain  what  Bessie  is  do- 
ing out  in  a  Frankfort  snow-storm." 

Maybe  she  is  after  red  cheeks ;  she  left  Bos- 
ton looking  pale  enough.  Her  mamma  thought 
a  sea  voyage  and  a  few  months  in  France  and 
as  many  more  in  Germany  would  color  her  face 
again  with  rose  tints  as  formerly.  You  see  how 
she  has  improved.  Now  the  Christmas  festival 
of  Frankfort  begins,  lasting  three  days.  There 
will  be  trees  and  trees,  and  so  much  more  that 
paper  can  hardly  hold  it  or  ink  write  it. 

Bessie  is  on  her  way  to  the  festival  to  see 
the  German  of  it  with  Yankee  eyes.  L. 


SIR  WALTER  SCOTT  AND  HIS   BULL-TERRIER, 

(From  the  painting  by  Raeburn.) 


STATUE  OF   SIR    WALTER   SCOTT,    IN  EDINBURGH. 

HEN  you  go  to  Edinburgh,  Scot- 
land —  as    some    day   go   you 
may  —  you    must    not   fail   to 
visit  one  of  the  finest  structures 
there,    the    monument    of    Sir 
Walter  Scott. 
Before  you  go  it  would  be  well  to  read  some 
of  his  charming  books :  Ivanhoe,  Old  Mortality, 
Tales  of  a  Grandfather,  etc. 

The  Scottish  folks  are  justly  proud  of  Sir 
Walter.  Few  nations  have  produced  so  de- 
lightful a  writer.  So  no  wonder  this  grand 
monument  was  built.  It  is  a  Gothic  edifice, 
the  top  of  the  spire  of  which  is  two  hundred 
feet  from  the  ground.  The  lower  part  is  open, 
and  here  is  a  fine  marble  statue  of  Sir  Walter, 
his  favorite  dog  by  his  side. 

Seventy-five  thousand  dollars  have  been  put 
into  this  edifice  !  Many  of  you  would  be  satis- 
fied with  a  house  costing  one  thousand.  Young 
Walter  Scott  did  not  expect  to  become  so  great 
a  man  when  he  first  took  up  his  pen.  L. 


ON    A    VISIT    TO    GERMANY. 


OUT  IN  A   SNOW-STORM. 


A     HERO. 


A   HERO. 

T  Fort  Smith,  Ark.,  is  Mrs. 
Edith  M.  Degen.  She  knows 
a  great  deal  about  Mr.  "In." 
If  you  will  write  her  a  letter 
saying  you  want  to  know  some- 
thing more  about  him,  and  if 
you  will  put  in  your  letter  a  postal  card  ad- 
dressed to  yourself,  it  will  soon  get  back  to  you 
with  writing  on  the  other  side  which  you  will 
like  to  read.  Try  it. 

Now  this  man  is  really  Mr.  Lewis  F.  Hadley  of 
Massachusetts.  He  has  been  many  years  among 
the  Indians,  studying  their  Sign  Language. 

You  see  the  different  tribes  of  Indians  have 
different  mouth  or  spoken  languages,  as  do 
white  people.  To  understand  each  other's 
speech  they  must  have  an  interpreter  to  give 
its  meaning ;  but  they  all  seem  to  have  about 


MK.    LEWIS   F.    HADLKY. 


the  same  sign  speech ;  by  using  this  the  differ- 
ent tribes  can  understand  each  other  when  they 
meet. 


You  know  the  deaf  and  dumb  talk  with  their 
hands.  So  with  the  Indians  of  different  tribes 
when  they  can't  understand  each  other's  speech. 

Here  is  a  specimen  of  the  sign  language : 


Country    west        I  sit 


rittng. 


Morning  come 


I  £five    It     fire- 

(^/&       x>'"'*      ~"Wr 
ry»H       /?>        M^* 

\A/ACfoni   gro  f^sti     prebty soon  you  c&tcK    Lb. 


you  c&tch  lb     you     show    it 


ma.n  t   worn  &n.  ,    a.l|       Me^ybe     so  ^ive  Lb 


norvey    priat     book      m&ny.  Printing 


The 


I    show/    Lb 


sa.rne 


see    i.t j      Know    ib    goocf  .         Done. 


Well,  Mr.  Hadley  has  been  mastering  these 
signs,  and  now,  after  many  years'  hard  study, 
you  see  he  can  write  it. 

"What  for?" 

To  spread  knowledge  among  the  Indians. 
To  give  them  the  Gospel  —  the  blessed  good 
news  about  the  Lord  who  came  and  died  for 
them. 

"  But  has  not  the  Bible  been  put  into  Indian 
for  them  to  read,  and  don't  the  missionaries 
preach  to  them  in  their  own  language?  " 

Yes,  indeed ;  but  don't  you  see  that  for  each 
one  of  the  many  tribes  it  may  be  necessary  to 
have  just  the  Bible  and  missionary  that  each 
can  understand  ?  But  if  all  the  tribes  now  know 
this  one  Sign  Talk,  then  all  can  read  the  Lord's 
Prayer,  and  any  other  part  of  the  Bible,  if  put 
.in  this  sign  talk.  And  all  the  more  so  because 


HIS     GIFT.— WORK     ENOUGH. 


every  one  can  understand  a  thing  better  if  he 
can  see  the  language  as  well  as  hear  it. 

Now  to  do  this  good  work  Mr.  H lived 

among  the  Indians.  He  is  a  missionary  unlike 
any  other.  He  has  suffered  much  living  as  the 
Indians  do  to  learn  this  language.  Read  what 
Mrs.  Degen  says  :  "  Would  you  like  to  go  out 
to  dine  where  all  the  family  kneel  on  an  earth 
floor  around  the  tin  dish-pan  in  which  the  dinner 
has  been  cooked,  and  grab  for  '  a  little  white 
meat,'  or  *  a  little  dark  meat,'  or  a  '  little  of  both, 
if  you  please '  ?  Would  you  like  to  see  your 
fellow  diners  throw  the  bones  they  have  picked 
back  into  the  pan  ?  Or  would  you  like  to  have 
your  food  brought  to  you  in  a  wash-basin  ?  " 

Now  you  can  see  something  of  what  Mr. 
Hadley  bears.  He  is  a  hero.  You  can  help 
him.  So  write  to  Mrs.  Degen.  L. 


HIS   GIFT. 

LITTLE  boy  in  Russia  lay  dy- 
ing. But  a  few  months  before 
he  had  heard  of  Jesus  and  his 
love,  and  given  his  heart  to 
that  wonderful  friend.  His 
greatest  desire  in  life  was  to 
have  other  Russian  children  get  acquainted  with 
Jesus.  He  meant  when  he  grew  up  to  be  a 
missionary  among  his  people ;  but  God  wanted 
him  in  heaven.  Just  before  he  died  he  called 
his  father,  and  told  him  how  much  he  wanted 
to  have  the  Bible  sent  to  people  who  were  not 
acquainted  with  Jesus.  Said  he:  "I  haven't 
much  money,  you  'know,  father,  but  if  you 
would  take  what  is  in  my  box  and  send  it  to 
the  house  where  they  print  Bibles,  I  think  there 
might  be  enough  to  dot  the  I!s  in  the  name  of 
Christ.  I  feel  sure  there  must  be  enough  to  do 
that  in  one  Bible,  and  I  would  like  it  so  much ! 
Will  you,  father?" 

You  do  not  need  to  be  told  that  the  father 
carried  out  his  boy's  last  directions,  and  the 
little  purse  of  money  is  helping  to-day  to  "dot 
the  I's  "  in  that  blessed  name. 

Surely  that  little  fellow  ought  to  have  had 
engraved  upon  his  headstone,  "  He  hath  done 
what  he  could." 


WORK   ENOUGH. 

OME  years  ago  — 

"  Some  years  ago !  "     Why, 
it  was  as  long  ago  as  five  times 
the  age  of  your  grandpapa  —  he 
was  eighty,  I  think  —  a  brave 
man  and  a  few  sailors  got  into 
a  small  ship  on  the  coast  of  Spain,  spread  its 
sails,  and  away  westward  they  sped,  over  the 
ocean  wide  and  rough  with  waves.    They  found 
America  at  last.     Others  came.     Villages  grew 
up.     Still  they  came. 

About  this  time,  three  thousand  miles  away, 
«  walked  two  — 

"Lovers,  I  guess." 

Indeed  they  did  love  each  other,  if  that  is 
what  you  mean.  See  them  in  the  picture  of  the 
"Two  Missionaries;  "  were  there  ever  sweeter 
faces,  purer  and  more  pitiful?  It  is  because 
the  love  of  God  is  shed  abroad  in  their  hearts. 
Dress  and  feathers  don't  make  beauty  so  much 
as  a  right  heart,  you  must  know. 

These  two  hearts  were  walking  near  the  dear 
old  church,  and  as  they  walked  they  thought  of 
the  sermon  the  day  before  about  bearing  the 
tidings  —  the  Gospel  —  to  the  needy.  They 
had  heard  of  America,  and  their  hearts  bled 
for  the  people  here. 

"And  did  they  go  to  a  seminary,  and  learn 
how  to  teach  and  preach,  and  get  ordained,  and 
get  married,  and  come  over  here  and  have  a 
Sunday-school  and  church?  " 

' '  They  left  all  to  follow  Jesus  —  fathers, 
mothers,  everybody,  everything,  "for  Jesus' 
sake,"  for  wild  America. 

' '  And  how  did  most  of  the  people  in  America 
look  when  they  got  here  ?  " 

How  does  this  creature  on  the  following 
page  look  ?  or  that  one  ? 

"Now  you  don't  mean  that  the  Americans 
then  were  such  objects  ?  " 

The  very  same.  And  our  two  sweet,  beauti- 
ful missionaries  came  to  them  and  learned  their 
language  and  lived  among  them,  and  taught 
them  of  the  true  God,  and  Jesus  Christ,  the 
Saviour. 

"Did  they  stay  more  than  a  year  that  way?" 

They  lived  and  died  among  them.    Then  their 


WORK    ENOUGH. 


children  took  up  the  work,  and  they  have  been 
carrying  it  on  ever  since ! 
4 '  And  what  came  of  it  all  ?  " 


ONE   OF  THE    FIERCE   SAVAGES. 

Why,  many  of  those  fierce  savages  put  off 
their  war  paint  and  wild  ways,  and  settled  down 
in  good  homes  like  nice 
Christian  people,  with 
churches  and  Sunday- 
schools  and  ministers  of 
their  own.  Some  of  them 
now  look  almost  as  sweet 
as  the  two  sweet  faces 
of  the  Two  Missionaries. 
That's  the  way  it  often 
works  when  God  puts  his 
grace  into  a  rough  heart. 
It  really  changes  the  face 
too  into  beauty.  God  can 
make  everything  beautiful. 

' '  But  what   about   the 
picture  on  the  next  page  ?  " 

You  mean  that  queer-looking  man  going 
ahead  with  a  child  in  his  arms  and  a  big  boy 
by  his  side? 


"  It  is  a  family  on  a  journey  somewhere." 

The  "  somewhere "  is  America.  They  are 
peasants  (the  poor  working  folks)  of  —  Den- 
mark, maybe. 

They  have  heard  of  America — what  a  goodly 
land  it  is  for  the  poor  and  homeless,  and  where 
they  can  be  free  to  worship  God — so  they  have 
sold  the  cow  and  poultry  and  a  few  other  things, 
and  putting  into  bundles  what  they  have  over, 
and  saying  a  sad  good-by  to  the  dear  old  hut 
where  they  have  always  lived,  they  are  on  their 
march  to  the  sea.  They  will  soon  be  aboard 
the  ship,  Safety ;  then,  after  two  months  — 

"  Two  months !  why,  the  Teutonic  of  the 
White  Star  Line  has  just  crossed  the  Atlantic 
in  five  days,  sixteen  hours  and  a  few  seconds." 

Yes,  but  this  was  long  ago. 

But  the  two  months  are  gone ;  they  have 
landed  at  Castle  Garden,  New  York,  and  now 
those  nine  have  become  ninety  thousand.  You 
see,  no  sooner  had  they  got  nicely  settled  upon 
a  little  spot  of  land,  and  in  a  neat  cottage,  and 
two  or  three  cows  about  them,  and  a  patch  of 
potatoes  growing  near  by,  when  away  went  a 
letter  back  to  Denmark  to  their  cousins  to  pack 
up  and  come  too. 

Well,  ever  since  the  ships  have  grown  larger 
and  faster,  bringing  loads  and  loads  of  peasants, 
five  hundred  thousand  some  years,  from  almost 
every  nation  on  the  other  side  of  the  ocean. 


ANOTHER  TYPE  OV  SAVAGES. 


"And  those  two  sweet-faced  missionaries, 
did  they  teach  all  these  low  people  the  good 
ways  of  God  ?  " 


DO  YOU  THINK  THEY  LIVE  IN  A  PALACE  ?    (See  "  Work  Enough.") 


DOLLIES     TO     THE     FRONT. 


Yes;  they  and  their  children.  Don't  you 
see,  they  stand  for  all  good  missionaries  whom 
Jesus  sends?  They  are  all  beautiful  in  his 
eyes.  Where  in  the  Bible  does  it  say  some- 
thing like  ' '  How  beautiful  upon  the  mountains 
are  the  feet  of  him  that  bringeth  good  tidings  ; 
that  publisheth  peace,  etc?"  If  beautiful  feet, 
beautiful  everything  —  so  beautiful  that  all 
among  whom  they  go  with  these  tidings  become 
beautiful  too ! 

See  those  children  in  the  opening  picture,  com- 


DOLLIES    TO   THE   FRONT. 

CAME  across  an  old  paper 
which  told  a  pretty  story  that 
ought  not  to  grow  old.  It  was 
about  a  "doll's  reception" 
which  a  certain  Mission  Baud 
gave.  The  dollies  were  lent 
by  the  members  and  their  friends,  and  the 
friends  of  their  friends,  until  there  was  a  great 
army  of  them.  Then  they  were  arrayed  in 


GOING   ON   A   JOURNEY. 


ing  down  the  road  with  bundles  under  their  arms  ? 
Look  them  over,  and  say  if  you  think  they  live 
in  a  palace,  and  if  they  wear  silks  or  furs. 

No,  no,  poor  things !  a  sorry  dinner  they've 
had.  A  bed  of  straw  for  them  to-night.  But 
in  a  few  years  some  cousins  in  America  will 
send  them  some  money ;  then  they  will  be  here, 
and  somehow  they  must  be  made  beautiful  as 
those  two  sweet-faced  ones.  Oh!  so  much 
work  in  this  land  for  Jesus,  to  meet  these 
heathen  at  Castle  Garden  with  the  good  news 
and  make  them  beautiful.  Oh !  for  more  home 
missionaries.  What  say  you?  L. 


choice  robes  and  grouped  with  artistic  skill. 
On  the  piano,  under  a  lovely  marriage  bell  of 
sweet-smelling  flowers,  were  two  bridal  groups, 
dressed  in  satin  and  old  lace  regardless  of  ex- 
pense. The  friends  of  the  bride  and  groom 
were  numerous.  Some  of  them  were  old,  ap- 
pearing in  costumes  of  sixty  years  before ; 
some  were  in  Mother  Hubbard  dress,  and  one 
very  large  rag  doll,  with  lips  made  of  beet  juice 
and  eyes  of  black  beads,  came  to  the  wedding 
in  the  little  wooden  cradle  which  had  belonged 
to  her  mother's  grandmother. 

There  was  an  "old  ladies'"  group  arranged 


WHAT  HAVE  I  DONE?  — WHEN  ST.  CHRYSOSTOM  PRAYED. 


on  a  round  table,  two  of  them  dressed  iu  Quaker 
attire,  the  others  in  the  sweet  old  fashion  of 
our  great-grandmothers.  Then  there  was  a 
babies'  group,  and  a  group  of  children  fresh 
from  the  schoolroom ;  there  was  a  German  table, 
a  French  table,  and  I  do  not  know  what  all. 

One  hundred  and  thirty  dolls  were  lent  for 
the  occasion.  The  description  of  each  group 
was  printed  in  rhyme  made  by  the  friends  of 
the  Band,  and  from  time  to  time,  as  a  crowd 
gathered  near  any  of  the  tables,  one  member 
stepped  forward  and  recited  the  descriptive 
poem.  Ten  cents  admission  was  charged,  and 
the  hall  was  thronged  on  two  afternoons. 
There  was  not  a  cent  of  expense  in  the  entire 
affair,  and  there  was  nothing  to  sell.  Over 
forty  dollars  were  taken  in  at  the  door,  and  the 
Mission  Band  went  home  happy  in  the  thought 
that  they  and  their  dollies  had  enriched  a  cer- 
tain school  in  Japan  by  that  amount. 


WHAT   HAVE   I   DONE? 

I  LAY  my  finger  on  time's  wrist  to  score 
The  forward-surging  moments  as  they  roll ; 
Each  pulse  seems  quicker  than  the  one  before ; 

And  lo !  my  days  pile  up  against  my  soul 
As  clouds  pile  up  against  the  golden  sun. 
Alas !  what  have  I  done  ?     What  have  I  done  ? 

I  never  steep  the  rosy  hours  in  sleep, 
Or  hide  my  soul,  as  in  a  gloomy  crypt ; 

No  idle  hands  into  my  bosom  creep ; 

And   yet,  as  water-drops  from  house-eaves 
drip, 

So,  viewless,  melt  my  days,  and  from  me  run ; 

Alas  !  what  have  I  done  ?     What  have  I  done  ? 

I  have  not  missed  the  fragrance  of  the  flowers, 
Or  scorned  the  music  of  the  flowing  rills, 

Whose  numerous   liquid   tongues   sing   to  the 

hours ; 
Yet  rise  my  days  behind  me,  like  the  hills 

Unstayed  by  light  of  mighty  triumphs  won ; 

Alas  !  what  have  I  done  ?     What  have  I  done  ? 

Be  still,  my  soul,  restrain  thy  lips  from  woe ! 
Cease  thy  lament!  for  life  is  but  the  flower, 


The  fruit  conies  after  death ;  how  can'st  thou 

know 
The    roundness   of    its    form,  its   depth   of 

power  ? 
Death   is   life's   morning.     When   thy   work's 

begun, 

Then  ask  thyself  —  what  yet  is  to  be  done  ? 
LILHAN  BLANCHE  FEARING, 
In  Home  Mission  Monthly* 


WHEN   ST.    CHRYSOSTOM   PRAYED. 

?rTYWAS  not  enough  to  kneel  in  prayer, 
JL      And  pur  his  very  soul  away 
In  fervid  wrestlings,  night  and  day, 

For  those  who  owned  his  shepherd  care ; 

But  faith  and  works  went  hand  in  hand, 
As  test  of  each  petition  made,   . 

And  saints  were  helped  throughout  the  laud 
When  St.  Chrysostom  prayed. 

Within  the  closet  where  he  knelt 
A  box  of  Bethlehem's  olive  wood  — 
"  For  Christ"  engraved  upon  it  —  stood  ; 

And  ever  as  he  daily  felt 

The  pressure  of  the  church's  need, 
Therein  the  daily  gift  was  laid ; 

For  word  had  instant  proof  of  deed 
When  St.  Chrysostom  prayed. 

Beneath  his  folded  hands  he  placed 
Whatever  gold  was  his  ;   and  when 
He  travailed  for  the  souls  of  men, 

So  long  by  pagan  rites  debased, 

The  more  he  agonized,  the  more 
The  burden  on  his  spirit  weighed ; 

And  piece  by  piece  went  all  his  store 
When  St.  Chrysostom  prayed. 

O,  golden  mother !  let  this  thine  alms 

Rouse  us  to  shame  who  daily  bow 

Within  our  sacred  places  now, 
With  outstretched  yet  with  empty  palms ! 
We  supplicate  indeed ;  but  has 

Our  faith  brought  answering  works  to  aid  'i 
Have  words  by  deeds  been  proven,  as 

When  St.  Chrysostom  prayed  ? 
MARGARET  J.  PRESTON,  in  Missionary  World. 


PUT  TO  SHAME. 


PUT  TO  SHAME. 


HEY  were  sitting  in  the  window- 
seat,  Magdalene  and  Mabel, 
busy  with  their  work,  and 
talking.  "The  Mission  Band 
meets  this  week,  you  know," 
said  Mabel. 

"I  know  it,"  Magdalene  said,  with  a  scowl 
on  her  face ;  "  I've  got  to  go,  I  suppose,  but  I 
don't  want  to  a  bit;  I  haven't  any  money  to 
spare  to  give ;  I'm  not  going  to  give  but  a  cent, 
anyhow,  I  just  can't  afford  it.  Isn't  this  blue 
silk  sash  lovely,  Mabel  ?  It  just  fits  my  dollie's 
eyes.  It  was  horridly  expensive ;  I  had  to  give 
twenty  cents  just  for  this  little  piece." 

"Nell  is  going  to  Mission  Band,"  said  that 
small  woman  from  the  carpet,  where  she  played 
with  her  dollie.  "Nell  knows  all  about  it; 
mamma  told  her.  Nell  doesn't  want  to  be  a 
selfish  little  girl  and  not  give  to  the  heathens ; 
Nell  is  going  to  give  her  bestest  thing." 

Magdalene  nudged  her  friend's  elbow  to  call 
attention  to  what  her  darling  little  sister  was 
saying,  and  the  two  listened. 

"What  are  you  going  to  give,  Pet?"  asked 
Magdalene  at  last,  as  the  baby  voice  ceased  its 
talking. 

.  The  little  girl  looked  up  with  surprised  eyes ; 
she  had  not  supposed  anybody  was  paying  atten- 
tion to  her. 

"  What  are  you  going  to  give  to  the  Mission 
Band  for  the  heathens  ?  " 

"I'm  going  to  give  my  bestest  thing,"  said 
the  baby,  with  sweet  gravity ;  "I  shall  give 
my  wubber  dollie,  that  I  love." 

Mabel  laughed,  but  Magdalene  looked  sober. 
Nobody  understood  better  than  she  how  the 
"  wubber  dollie  "  was  loved,  and  she  knew  that 
Baby  Nell  meant  what  she  said. 

"I  think  I  will  give  my  twenty-five  cents, 
after  all,"  she  said,  after  a  moment's  silence, 
"  and  let  my  doll  go  without  a  fur  cape ;  there 
is  a  lovely  fur  cape  for  sale  at  the  doll  store  for 
twenty-five  cents,  and  I  meant  to  have  it :  but 
I  believe  I  won't." 

"You  want  to  match  Nell's  'wubber  dollie,'" 
said  Mabel,  with  a  good-natured  laugh ;  "but 
I  don't  believe  you  can." 


SOME  summer  day  you  may  be  in  Saratoga, 
N.  Y.  Among  other  sights  you  may  see 
Indian  encampments.  Thither  they  come  to 
sell  their  curious  manufactures  —  bows,  arrows, 
bead  bags  and  many  other  queer  things. 

The  squaws  (women)  will  be  among  them, 
dressed  as  Indian  women  have  always  dressed, 
but  hardly  so  well  as  "  Teweelema." 

If  you  wish  to  see  her  you  can  now  find  her 
on  her  goodly  farm  near  Lakeville,  Mass.,  or 
traveling  among  the  neighboring  villages  selling 
her  wares  —  moccasins,  necklaces  of  shells  and 
beads,  etc.  She  can  chop  a  tree  down  or  spade 
up  the  ground,  and  do  almost  any  man's  work. 


TEWEELEMA. 


She  and  her  sister  manage  the  farm.  Her  name 
is  Wootonekanuske. 

At  Oneida,  N.  Y.,  you  may  always  see  a  few 
Indian  women  on  the  cars  or  at  the  station, 
'looking  something  like  Teweelema. 

But  in  a  few  more  years  there  may  not  be 
any  Indians  left  east  of  the  Mississippi  River. 
The  Gospel  is  now  among  them,  and  maybe  you 
will  never  again  read  of  so  fierce  a  warrior  as 
Sitting-Bull  or  King  Philip,  Teweelema's  great, 
great,  greatest  grandfather.  L. 


EVKHYTHING  IS  GAY  AND  HAPPY. 


CARL     HAMMOND'S     LESSON. 


CARL   HAMMOND'S   LESSON. 


OR  a  boy  who  was  usually  happy, 
Carl  Hamrnoud  certainly  speut 
a  very  uncomfortable  winter. 
It  is  true  it  was  his  first  away 
from  home,  and  some  people 
thought  he  was  young  to  be 
sent  from  home,  but  that  was  not  the  trouble. 
He  was  with  Aunt  Mary,  which  was  almost  the 
same  as  being  with  mother;  and  the  schools 
where  Aunt  Mary  lived  were  so  much  better 
than  at  Carl's  own  home,  that  his  mother  had 
made  the  sacrifice,  and  sent  him  away. 

His  unhappiness  had  to  do  with  a  certain 
September  day  which  was  as  bright  and  beau- 
tiful as  a  sunny  day  in  early  autumn  can  be. 
Carl  remembered  every  little  thing  about  that 
afternoon  —  just  how  his  father's  desk  looked, 
and  what  books  were  piled  on  the  table  at  its 
left,  and  above  all,  just  how  Bunce  looked  when 
he  bounded  in  at  the  window.  He  was  writing 
to  Aunt  Mary  then,  he  remembered,  telling  her 
on  what  train  to  expect  him,  and  he  had  held 
the  pen  in  hand  and  turned  to  laugh  at  Bunce 
because  he  was  so  ridiculously  glad  over  having 
found  him.  He  had  leaned  over  and  patted  the 
dog's  eager  head,  and  had  asked  him  how  he 
was  going  to  manage  to  get  along  without  his 
playmate  all  winter ;  and  Buuce  had  begun  to 
run  around  his  chair  in  tha»t  absurd  fashion  he 
had  when  especially  pleased,  and  had  bumped 
against  the  table  just  as  Carl  had  shouted  to 
him  to  "take  care  !  "  The  shout  came  too  late. 
Bunce  succeeded  in  jostling  the  table,  so  that  a 
ponderous  book  set  too  near  the  edge  tumbled 
off,  taking  the  great  cut-glass  inkstand  with  it, 
and  the  contents  of  that  dreadful  inkstand 
spread  itself  not  only  over  the  costly  book,  but 
the  handsome  carpet  as  well.  If  it  had  hap- 
pened but  the  day  before,  Carl  could  not  have 
remembered  every  little  particular  more  vividly. 
Especially  what  followed ;  there  is  no  deny- 
ing that  Carl  was  very  much  frightened.  It 
seems  a  strange  thing  to  say,  but  the  truth  is, 
he  was  not  very  well  acquainted  with  his  father. 
Mr.  Hammond  was  connected  with  a  business 
firm  which  sent  him  every  year,  and  sometimes 
two  or  three  times  a  year,  to  Europe ;  and  be- 


tween times  he  had  to  go  South  and  West,  and 
Carl  hardly  knew  where  else,  on  business ;  so 
that  he  was  not  often  at  home  for  many  days 
together,  and  when  there,  was  so  crowded  with 
business  as  to  have  little  leisure  for  his  family. 
Carl  had  once  complained  that  whenever  his 
father  was  at  home  for  an  hour  or  two  it  was 
always  after  he  had  gone  to  bed.  Perhaps  on 
this  account  he  was  the  more  frightened;  for 
his  father  had  great  respect  for  books,  and  was 
particularly  careful  of  the  large  one  that  Bunce 
had  ruined.  Carl  could  seem  to  hear  his  quick 
firm  voice  giving  directions  : 

' '  Remember,  my  son,  you  are  on  no  account 
to  allow  Bunce  in  the  study ;  he  is  a  dangerous 
fellow  in  such  a  place ;  he  can  hardly  move 
without  doing  injury.  Be  careful  always  to 
close  the  sash  window  when  you  go  there,  lest 
he  might  follow  you."  And  Carl  had  been  iy 
the  study  on  the  day  in  question  for  a  half 
hour,  with  the  sash  window  wide  open.  NoV 
that  he  had  forgotten,  but  he  believed  Bunce  to 
be  a  mile  away  taking  a  walk  with  his  young 
mistress  ;  and  he  said  to  himself  :  "  It  is  very 
much  pleasanter  with  the  window  open,  and  of 
course  papa  does  not  care  when  Buuce  is  away." 
As  if  Bunce  could  not  return  at  any  moment ! 
which  he  presently  did.  Even  then  Carl  might 
have  ordered  him  instantly  out  and  closed  the 
sash,  but  the  dear  fellow  was  so  absurdly  glad 
to  see  him,  and  ran  around  in  such  a  funny 
fashion  to  show  his  joy  that  it  seemed  too  bad 
to  dismiss  him  at  once.  Therefore  the  result 
which  I  have  given  you. 

But  this  was  not  the  end  of  the  story.  Carl 
arose  in  great  alarm,  and  without  even  attempt- 
ing to  repair  damages,  which  indeed  would  have 
been  beyond  his  skill,  made  all  haste  from  the 
room,  taking  Bunce  with  him  and  closing  the 
sash  window  carefully.  Then,  an  hour  after- 
wards, when  his  father's  stern  voice  questioned : 
"Carl,  do  you  know  anything  about  the  acci- 
dent in  the  study?  "  what  did  Carl  do  but  ask : 
"What  accident,  sir?" 

"The  overturning  and  breaking  of  the  large 
inkstand  and  the  spoiling  of  a  very  valuable 
book.  Did  you  have  anything  to  do  with  it?  " 

"No,  sir,"  said  Carl;   "  I  had  not." 

The  poor  fellow  told  his  conscience  that  he 


CARL     HAMMOND'S     LESSON. 


really  did  not  have  a  thing  to  do  with  it,  that 
the  dog  did  all  the  mischief  while  he  sat  per- 
fectly still,  and  that  his  father  was  the  one  who 
had  left  the  book  open  on  the  table  so  danger- 
ously near  the  edge.  But  his  conscience  had 
been  better  taught  than  that,  and  would  have 
nothing  to  do  with  such  flimsiness.  It  told  him 
plainly  before  he  slept  that  night,  that  the  name 
of  such  talk,  in  plain  English,  was  lying ! 

Nobody  questioned  Carl  further ;  his  friends 
were  in  the  habit  of  believing  his  word,  and  his 
father  had  been  almost  immediately  called  away 
by  a  telegram,  so  that  indeed  there  had  been  no 
time  to  investigate.  Two  days  afterwards,  Carl 
himself  left  home.  Now  you  know  why  his 
winter  had  been  uncomfortable.  The  simple 
truth  was,  that  he  was  an  honorable,  truth-lov- 
ing boy,  who  had  been  astonished  and  dismayed 
at  himself  for  telling  what  was  not  true,  and 
who  could  not  help  despising  himself  for  it. 
Moreover,  he  knew  that  if  there  was  one  sin 
more  than  another  which  his  father  hated  with 
all  his  earnest  nature,  it  was  the  sin  of  lying. 

It  may  be  surprising  to  think  that  a  boy  like 
•Carl  should  be  half  the  winter  making  up  his 
mind  to  tell  the  exact  truth ;  nevertheless  such 
was  the  case.  The  longer  he  put  it  off,  the 
more  impossible  it  seemed  to  him  to  write  to 
his  father  and  explain  his  share  in  the  mischief. 
But  at  last,  one  snowy  winter  day,  only  two 
weeks  before  the  holidays,  he  did  it.  He  felt 
better  as  soon  as  the  letter  was  mailed.  He 
told  himself  that  no  matter  what  his  father  said 
in  reply,  he  knew  he  had  at  last  done  right,  and 
should  be  glad  over  it.  Still  he  watched  for  the 
home  letter  more  anxiously  than  ever  before. 
It  was  from  his  mother,  with  a  little  note  en- 
closed, for  Carl's  private  reading,  from  his 
father. 

"A  fellow  couldn't  haVe  a  better  letter,"  said 
Carl,  wiping  his  eyes,  and  feeling  a  warm  glow 
in  his  heart  for  the  dear  father  who  had  been 
so  kind  and  gentle,  and  yet  honest  and  plain- 
spoken.  Less  than  a  week  afterwards,  Carl 
was  on  his  way  home.  His  mind  was  in  a 
strange  confusion  as  the  train  neared  the  home 
station.  He  could  not  help  feeling  just  a  little 
.sorry  that  his  father  was  at  home.  "Of  course 
he  will  punish  me,"  thought  the  poor  fellow. 


"I  suppose  he  must;  he  always  punishes  dis- 
obedience. What  if  he  should  not  let  me  see 
mother  to-night!  Or  perhaps  he  will  not  let 
me  go  to  Grandma's  with  the  family  to-morrow. 
I'd  most  rather  he  would  whip  me,  and  perhaps 
he  will !  " 

Over  this  thought  the  twelve-year-old  boy's 
heart  almost  stood  still.  His  father  had  not 
often  punished  him  in  this  way,  but  on  the  very 
rare  occasions  when  it  had  to  be  done,  it  was 
managed  in  such  a  manner  that  Carl  distinctly 
remembered  it.  By  the  time  the  train  ran  into 
the  station  he  had  succeeded  in  working  himself 
up  to  such  a  pitch  of  excitement  that  he  was 
almost  tempted  to  run  away,  to  avoid  the  dis- 
grace of  this  home-coming.  But  his  father  was 
there,  waiting. 

"  Here's  my  boy !  "  Carl  heard  him  say,  and 
in  a  minute  more  the  father's  arms  were  around 
him,  and  the  father's  kiss  was  on  his  cheeks. 
Mother  was  waiting  in  the  carriage,  and  not  a 
word  during  the  quick  ride  home,  nor  at  the 
joyous  supper  table  afterwards,  was  said  to  him 
about  his  fault.  They  went  to  Grandma's  the 
next  day  in  great  happiness,  and  the  next  day 
they  went  to  Uncle  Will's.  "I  am  having  a 
holiday,"  his  father  explained,  "in  honor  of 
my  boy's  home-coming.  I  am  taking  a  longer 
vacation  from  business  than  I  have  had  before 
in  two  years."  The  days  passed,  and  not  a 
word  was  said  to  Carl  about  his  disobedience 
and  falseness.  Nobody  could  be  kinder  or 
more  thoughtful  for  his  comfort  and  pleasure 
than  his  father,  yet  Carl  could  not  help  won- 
dering when  and  how  his  punishment  was  to 
come.  At  last,  one  evening,  when  they  were 
alone  together  for  a  few  minutes,  he  resolved 
to  discover.  "Father,"  he  said,  and  his  voice 
trembled  a  little,  "when  are  you  going  to  pun- 
ish me?  " 

His  father  turned  astonished  eyes  upon  him. 
"  Punish  you,  my  dear  boy !  For  what?  " 

Carl's  cheeks  were  very  red.  "Why,  father, 
don't  you  know  —  surely  you  remember?  I 
wrote  about  it." 

' '  But  surely,  my  boy,  I  wrote  you  about  it ! 
Did  I  not  tell  you  I  forgave  you  utterly?  " 

"O,  yes,  sir!  but  then  I  thought  —  that  you 
would  think  "  —  Carl  stopped  in  confusion. 


CARL    HAMMOND'S    LESSON. 


"You  thought  I  must  remember  the  sin,  and 
punish  the  sinner,  even  though  I  had  forgiven 
him?  Is  that  it?" 

"Yes,  sir,"  said  Carl,  low- voiced  and 
troubled. 

"No,"  said  Mr.  Hammond,  and  Carl  noticed 
how  tender  his  voice  was ;  "  I  do  not  remember 
anything  about  it  in  the  sense  which  you  mean. 
Do  you  remember  my  telling  you  once  that  God 
meant  fathers  to  be  object  lessons  to  their  chil- 
dren, giving  them  some  faint  idea,  at  least,  of 
what  kind  of  a  father  God  would  be  to  those 
who  trusted  him  ?  " 

"  Yes,  sir,"  said  Carl. 


"Very  well,  then,  here  on  this  card,  which  I 
would  like  you  to  keep  in  your  Bible,  is  my 
answer  to  your  question." 

The  card  was  a  lovely  blue  celluloid,  and  had 
printed  on  it  in  gold  letters,  the  words,  ' '  I  will 
forgive  their  iniquity,  and  I  will  remember  their 
sin  no  more." 

One  evening,  when  Carl  was  twenty  years 
old,  he  repeated  that  verse  in  a  Christian  En- 
deavor prayer  meeting,  and  said  that  his  father's 
commentary  on  it  had  made  him  understand  it. 
Then  he  told,  in  brief,  the  story  which  I  have 
given  you. 

MYRA  SPAFFORD. 


HE  REMEMBERED  JUST   HOW  BUNCE  LOOKED. 


THE   STATE  HOUSE  AT  BOSTON. 


HOWARD'S     WAY. 


HOWARD'S   WAY. 

(Character  Studies.) 

HEY  were  all  in  the  library  after 
dinner,  and  were  all  talking  at 
once,  as  the  Edwards  family 
were  inclined  to  be.  "I  don't 
see  why  we  always  have  so 
much  more  to  say  than  other 
people  seem  to,"  Lora  Edwards  had  once  re- 
marked, setting  them  all  into  shouts  of  laughter. 
Howard  was  not  talking ;  his  head  was  bent  low 
over  a  Latin  dictionary.  They  were  waiting  for 
some  of  the  family,  because  they  always  gath- 
ered at  this  hour  in  the  library  for  evening 
prayers ;  but  Howard,  while  he  waited,  saved 
the  minutes,  remembering  the  hard  lesson  of 
the  morning,  and  the  liability  to  be  interrupted 
in  his  study  hour. 

The  back  parlor  door  was  pushed  open  and 
Uncle  Edward's  handsome  form  appeared. 
"Where  is  Ashman  Square?"  he  inquired. 

Several  voices  at  once  attemped  to  answer 
him.  "It  is  just  off  of  Second  Street,"  said 
Lora.  And  Emma  in  the  same  breath  said, 
"It  is  over  by  the  river  somewhere ;  near  Park 
Street,  isn't  it?"  Then  Dickie,  "Why,  Lora, 
it  can't  be  near  Second  Street,  because  Wyeth 
Avenue  runs  in  there." 

"No,  it  doesn't;  Wyeth  Avenue  crosses  at 
Third  Street." 

Then  exclamations  from  at  least  four :  "Why, 
Lora  Edwards !  Wyeth  Avenue  isn't  near  Third 
Street.  I  think  Ashman  Square  is  down  by  the 
Lincoln  Statue  ;  isn't  it,  papa  ?  " 

"I  am  sure  I  don't  know,"  said  papa,  who 

just  then  entered  the  room.     "The  city  changes 

so  rapidly  and  adds  so  many  fancy  names  that 

I  cannot  keep  track  of  it.    Who  wants  to  know 

—  Edward?    There  is  a  map  about  somewhere. 

I  shouldn't  wonder  if  Ashman  Square  was  down 

near  the  old  Ashman  place,  towards  the  river." 

"There!"  said  Emma,  "I  was  sure  it  was 

near  the  river." 

"But  the  river  is  quite  a  stream,  my  dear 
niece,"  Uncle  Edward  said,  smiling. 

4 '  Yes ;  but  Ashman  Square  is  not  very  far 
down ;  it  is  near  the  Westtield  car  line." 


Then  a  perfect  babel  of  voices  ensued. 

"  O,  Emma,  no!  " 

"Emma  Edwards!  it  is  a  quarter  of  a  mile 
from  the  Eastman  line,  I  am  certain." 

"I  don't  think  Ashman  Square  is  on  this 
side  at  all;  I  think  you  are  all  confused." 

"  Yes,  it  is ;  I  pass  it  every  day,  but  I  don't 
remember  on  which  side  of  the  avenue  it  is.  I 
go  down  one  way  and  come  up  another,  and  so 
get  things  mixed." 

' '  I  don't  think  any  of  you  know  much  about 
it,"  said  Uncle  Edward,  and  this  time  he  laughed. 
Several  voices  began  again  in  eager  disclaimer, 
but  Father  Edwards  silenced  them  :  "  See  here, 
children,  we  must  have  prayers  at  once ;  I  have 
an  important  engagement  at  seven.  After- 
wards, one  of  you  can  find  a  map  and  settle 
your  discussion." 

Lora  struck  the  chord  and  the  entire  family 
joined  in : 


"  While  Thee  I  seek,  protecting  Power, 
Be  my  vain  wishes  stilled." 


In  the  momentary  lull  which  there  was  as 
they  rose  from  their  knees,  Howard  spoke,  for 
the  first  time  that  evening. 

"Uncle  Edward." 

"  Yes." 

' '  About  Ashman  Square  —  do  you  know 
where  the  Station  D  post-office  is  ? " 

"Perfectly." 

"Well,  Ashman  Square  begins  two  blocks 
east  of  that." 

"So  it  does  !  "  declared  Lora ;  "  why  in  the 
world  didn't  some  of  us  think  of  the  post-office  ? 
that  would  have  located  it." 

"I  never  noticed  how  near  it  was  to  the  post- 
office,"  said  Emma.  "What  I  would  like  to 
know  is,  why  Howard  did  not  speak  before, 
and  save  us  all  this  talk." 

"Sure  enough!"  said  Dickie.  "Did  you 
find  the  answer  to  that  conundrum  in  your 
Latin  dictionary?  Why  didn't  you  look  up, 
old  fellow,  and  join  the  colloquy  ?  " 

"  Couldn't  get  a  chance,"  said  Howard,  with 
a  good-natured  smile ;  ' '  you  all  had  a  great 
deal  to  say,  and  were  bent  on  saying  it,  all  at 
once ;  I  thought  I  would  keep  still  until  the 


ABOUT     BOSTON. 


shower  was  over,  and  in  the  meantime  a  grain 
of  fact  might  be  evolved  out  of  it ;  but  there 
wasn't." 

' '  Howard  always  waits  until  there  is  clear 
sailing,"  said  Lora.  "I've  noticed  that  he  is 
the  only  one  in  our  family  who  isn't  apparently 
burning  to  speak  at  the  same  moment  when 
some  one  else  is." 

"And  when  he  does  speak  it  is  to  the  point," 
said  Uncle  Edward.  ' '  Much  obliged,  my  boy ; 
you  have  saved  me  a  bewildering  tramp  in  the 
effort  to  follow  the  directions  of  these  voluble 
young  ladies."  MYRA  SPAFFORD. 


ABOUT   BOSTON. 

BY    THE    PANSIES. 

AMMA  told  me  why  it  was 
named  Boston.  There  was 
once  in  old  England  a  man  so 
good  and  kind  to  sailors,  and 
to  people  in  distress  on  the 
water,  that  he  was  named  St. 
Botolph,  because  the  word  "Botolph"  is  made 
from  two  words,  which  mean  boat  help.  After 
a  while  the  word  "Boston"  grew  out  of  the 
name,  and  the  place  where  this  man  had  lived 
and  died  was  called  so.  And  Boston  in  New 
England  was  named  for  it. 

LUCY  STEVENSON. 


I  SAW  a  picture  of  the  first  house  that  was 
ever  built  in  Boston.  It  is  very  homely.  There 
are  only  a  few  windows,  and  one  door,  I  think ; 
and  it  looks  like  some  of  the  log  cabins  of  the 
West.  A  man  named  William  Blackstone  lived 
in  this  house  all  alone.  It  was  built  on  a  hill, 
and  the  place  where  it  stood  is  now  part  of  a 
handsome  street  in  Boston.  But  the  town  was 
not  called  Boston  when  William  Blackstone 
lived  there ;  it  was  Shawmut. 

WILLIAM  BLAKE. 


THEY  used  to  have  very  strict  laws  in  Boston 
about  the  Sabbath.  From  Saturday  at  mid- 
night until  six  o'clock  on  Sunday  evening  no 
hired  carriage  could  leave  or  enter  the  city,  and 


during  the  hours  of  public  service  no  wagon  of 
any  sort  was  allowed  to  move  through  the  streets 
faster  than  a  walk.  Soon  after  the  laws  against 
using  the  bath-houses  on  Sunday  were  made,  a 
person  who  thought  himself  witty  had  printed 
in  the  paper  the  following  rhyme  : 

"  In  superstition's  day,  'tis  said, 

Hens  laid  two  eggs  on  Monday; 
Because  a  hen  would  lose  her  head 

Who  laid  an  egg  on  Sunday. 
Now  our  wise  rulers  and  the  law 

Say  none  shall  wash  on  Sunday, 
So  Boston  folks  must  dirty  go, 

And  wash  them  twice  on  Monday! " 

REUBEN  S.  BENTON. 


I  READ  about  a  town  meeting  which  was  held 
in  Boston  in  1789,  in  which  they  voted  that 
there  should  be  ' '  One  writing  school  at  the 
south  part  of  the  town,  one  at  the  center,  and 
one  at  the  north  part ;  and  that  in  these  schools 
the  children  of  both  sexes  shall  be  taught  writ- 
ing, and  also  arithmetic  in  its  various  branches, 
including  vulgar  and  decimal  fractions." 

Another  law  passed  at  the  same  meeting  was, 
that  there  should  be  "  A  reading  school  in  the 
north  part  of  the  town  and  one  in  the  south 
part,  and  that  the  children  of  both  sexes  should 
be  taught  to  spell,  accent  and  read,  both  prose 
and  verse."  Girls  were  allowed  to  attend  these 
schools  only  half  the  year — from  April  to  Octo- 
ber —  but  boys  could  go  in  winter.  This  latter 
rule  was  changed  in  1828,  and  the  girls  were 
allowed  to  attend  through  the  year  until  they 
were  sixteen ;  boys  could  attend  only  until  they 
were  fourteen.  The  Bible  was  the  only  reader 
then  in  use.  HELEN  WESTOVER. 


I  WENT  to  Boston  once  to  visit  my  grand- 
father, and  he  took  me  to  lots  of  places,  and 
showed  me  the  picture  of  Ann  Pollard ;  she 
lived  to  be  a  hundred  and  five  years  old,  and 
she  was  the  first  to  jump  from  the  boat  when 
the  colonists  came  over  from  Charlestown ;  she 
was  only  ten  years  old  then,  and  she  gave  a 
spring  from  the  boat  just  as  it  was  touching 
the  shore,  and  landed.  Grandfather  showed 
her  to  me,  and  told  me  about  her,  because  my 
name  is  Annie  Pollard,  and  he  said  I  had  a 
little  of  the  spunk  of  my  old  ancestor. 

ANNIE  POLLARD. 


ABOUT     BOSTON. 


WE  have  been  studying  in  school  about  John 
Hancock  and  his  times,  and  our  teacher  told  us 
about  his  wife's  breakfast  party  at  the  old  Han- 
cock House.  It  was  in  1778,  and  a  French 
fleet  came  into  Boston  harbor.  Governor  Han- 
cock proposed  that  the  officers  be  invited  to 
breakfast;  so  his  wife  had  her  table  set  for 
thirty  officers,  and  instead  all  the  under  officers 
of  the  fleet  came  also  —  a  hundred  and  twenty 
more  than  were  expected  !  Mrs.  Hancock  must 
have  been  in  a  panic  for  a  few  minutes,  but  she 
got  out  of  her  difficulties.  First,  she  ordered  all 
the  cows  on  the  Common  milked,  and  the  milk 


WE  have  a  picture  in  our  library  of  the  old 
Hancock  House.  It  isn't  much  of  a  house  as 
those  things  go  nowadays,  but  when  Governor 
Hancock  lived  there  I  suppose  it  looked  fine. 
I  like  old  John  Hancock ;  it  is  great  fun  to  read 
about  him.  Of  course  it  was  all  nonsense  for 
him  to  think  that  Washington  ought  to  call  on 
him  first,  that  time  when  Washington  went  to 
Boston  to  visit  in  1789,  but  for  all  that  I  think 
it  was  awfully  cute,  the  way  in  which  Hancock 
finally  backed  down.  He  had  the  gout,  you 
know,  so  he  did  himself  up  in  flannel  and  had 
his  men  carry  him  on  their  shoulders  to  call  on 


THE    HANCOCK.    HOUSE. 


brought  to  her ;  then  she  sent  among  her  friends 
and  borrowed  cakes  and  other  things  to  help 
out,  and  gave  them  all  a  very  nice  breakfast. 

The  French  count  who  commanded  the  fleet 
was  very  much  pleased,  and  invited  the  gov- 
ernor and  his  wife  to  visit  his  fleet  and  bring 
their  friends.  This  was  Mrs.  Hancock's  chance 
to  be  politely  revenged  upon  him  for  bringing 
so  many  people  to  breakfast ;  she  invited  five 
hundred  friends  to  go  with  her  'to  the  fleet ! 
But  they  were  politely  received  and  entertained 
elegantly.  FANNIE  BROOKS. 


Washington.     If  he  had  got  to  make  the  first 
call  he  meant  to  do  it  in  state,  and  he  did. 

JOHN  STUART  WINTHROP. 


WHEN  I  was  just  eight  years  old,  my  father 
spent  a  week  in  Boston  with  me,  and  showed  . 
me  the  Museum,  the  Navy  Yard,  the  School  for 
the  Blind  (I  remember  Laura  Bridgman),  the 
Idiot  School,  etc.  He  took  me  to  the  top  of 
Bunker  Hill  Monument ;  I  remember  I  counted 
the  two  hundred  and  ninety-seven  steps.  Not 
every  father  thinks  that  a  child  of  eight  could 


ABOUT    BOSTON. 


appreciate  such  things.  Many  and  many  a 
time  since  then,  have  I  thanked  my  father  for 
helping  me  to  enjoy  the  remembrance  of  things 
which  I  never  expect  to  see  again.  During  that 
visit  to  Boston  a  boy  ten  years  old  took  from 
my  grandfather's  library  a  copy  of  one  of  the 
"Jonas"  books  which  he  coveted.  The  book 
was  never  missed,  but  twenty  years  afterwards 
the  boy  returned  it  with  compound  interest  and 
apologies ;  his  heart  had  never  been  at  rest 
about  it.  MRS.  OLIVIA  C.  WARNE. 


MY  father  was  in  Boston  when  the  statue  of 
John  Winthrop  was  unveiled ;  he  walked  in  that 
great  procession,  and  heard  the  speech  made  in 
the  Old  South  Church.  I  have  been  to  Boston 
myself,  and  walked  around  that  very  statue.  It 
is  in  Scollay  Square.  Governor  Winthrop  is 
dressed  just  as  they  used  to  dress  in  his  time ; 
he  has^,  Bible  in  one  hand,  and  a  copy  of  the 
king's  charter  in  the  other.  There  is  a  carved 
rope  wound  around  a  carved  tree  which  stands 
for  the  ship  that  brought  him  over.  I  went  to 
the  beautiful  State  House,  too.  It  is  the  one 


THE    STATUE   OF    WIXTHROP. 


ONCE  I  went  to  the  old  North  Church  in  Bos- 
ton. I  went  up  the  tower  to  the  steeple,  where 
General  Gage  stood  and  watched  Charlestown 


which  was  begun  in  Governor  Hancock's  pas- 
ture !  But  it  does  not  look  much  like  a  pasture 
where  it  stands  now.  HARRY  WESTFIELD. 


THE  OL1'   NORTH   CHURCH. 

burn.  On  the  steeple  is  the  date  "  1723."  The 
chime  of  bells  on  this  church  are  just  lovely !  I 
heard  them  play.  One  of  them  has  on  it  these 
words :  "We  are  the  first  ring  of  bells  cast  for 
the  British  Empire  in  North  America."  Another 
bell  says:  "Since  generosity  has  opened  our 
mouths,  our  tongues  shall  ring  aloud  its  praise." 
Inside  the  church  are  some  queer  wooden  angels. 
The  pews  are  very  old-fashioned.  The  Bible 
in  the  desk  was  the  one  that  George  the  Second 
gave  to  the  church.  After  making  this  visit  I 
learned  "Paul  Revere"  and  recited  it  at  school; 
.  you  know  the  signal  lights  which  warned  him 
shone  from  the  steeple  of  the  Old  North. 

MARY  WINTHROP  SMITH. 

[For  want  of  space,  we  must  bring  this  very  interesting  bit 
of  history  about  old  Boston  to  a  close.  It  is  certainly  not  for 
want  of  material  that  we  do  so,  and  our  hearty  thanks  are  due 
the  Pansies  and  their  friends  for  the  letters  full  of  interesting 
items  which  have  come  to  us.  It  is  noticeable  that  the  young 
people  of  to-day  are  interested  in  Boston's  past,  which  is  a 
wise  thing,  for  its  history  is  full  of  suggestion  for  the  future. 

We  earnestly  hope  that  the  city  which  we  take  up  next, 
viz:  Washington,  D.  C.,  may  call  out  as  many  items  of  inter- 
est from  the  young  people.  — EDITORS  THE  PANSY.] 


MAJOR'S     AUTOBIOGRAPHY. 


MAJOR'S   AUTOBIOGRAPHY. 

F  Bose  and  Fido  and  Sport  and 
the  rest  will  keep  still  long 
enough,  I  will  tell  you  some 
things  about  myself  which  I 
should  like  you  to  remember. 

I  am  growing  old  pretty  fast, 
and  if  I  had  not  the  kindest  master  in  the  world 
I  would  stand  a  slim  chance. 

My  smelling  is  good  yet,  and  things  taste 
nice  enough,  but  my  teeth  are  nearly  gone. 
Bones  which  once  would  have  been  a  luxury, 
now  do  me  little  good.  The  best  I  can  do  is 
to  lap  off  a  little  of  the  meat  and  grease. 

Yes,  I  can  bark  loud  enough  yet,  but  it  vexes 
me  terribly  when  I  see  the  cattle  in  the  field 
where  they  do  not  belong,  or  some  wicked  boys 
in  the»  orchard  stealing  apples,  to  know  that 
about  all  I  can  do  is  to  bark. 

I  do  not  pretend  that  I  have  been  a  perfect 
dog,  but  I  have  had  a  great  deal  of  experience 
in  my  day,  and  am  not  without  the  hope  that 
you,  my  young  friends,  may  profit  by  Avhat  I 
have  seen  and  heard  and  felt  myself,  and  known 
in  the  lives  of  others. 

No,  I  shall  not  try  to  tell  it  all  to-day ;  I 
have  no  wish  to  bore  you  with  "long  yarns," 
as  the  sailors  say.  Besides,  there  would  not 
be  time  before  Fido  might  be  wanted  to  go  with 
his  mistress  across  the  pasture  when  she  takes 
that  beef  tea  to  Willie  Jones.  She -never  seems 
afraid  with  her  pet  along.  Bose,  too,  will  be 
wanted  to  drive  home  the  cows ;  so  I  will  tell 
you  only  a  little  to-day,  and  more  another  time. 

Where  I  was  born  I  really  do  not  know,  but 
I  am  inclined  to  think  it  was  a  great  way  from 
here,  perhaps  in  another  country  ;  we  will  never 
know,  I  suppose,  though  it  seems  to  me  it  must 
be  nice  to  know  where  one  came  into  the  world, 
and  what  kind  of  father  and  mother  he  had. 
But,  dear  me,  I  have  seen  some  dogs,  and  folks 
too,  who  would  have  been  happier  if  they  had 
never  known  their  parents  ! 

I  can  just  remember  seeing  my  mother  once. 
I  think  she  must  have  been  beautiful.  The 
man  who  took  me  away  from  her  often  said  in 
my  hearing  that  I  had  her  hair  and  eyes. 

I  can  remember  how  mother  cried  when  they 


carried  me  away.  I  had  never  seen  her  cry 
before,  and  though  I  was  awfully  frightened, 
yet  I  felt  sorry  for  her. 

I  was  petted  enough,  and  had  plenty  to  eat, 
but  the  journey  was  long,  and  shut  up  in  that 
little  box  I  was  dreadfully  lonesome. 

But  finally  we  reached  home ;  then  I  had  a 
warm  bed,  and  a  nice  place ;  but  some  nights  I 
was  terribly  scared  there  in  the  dark  all  alone. 
The  boys  had  a  pet  donkey,  and  the  first  night 
I  was  there  that  fellow  made  his  horrid  bray. 
My  !  I  thought  I  should  die  with  fright.  Well, 
when  I  had  got  a  little  used  to  the  donkey, 
what  should  I  hear  in  the  tree  over  my  head 
but  a  horrid  "  To  hoo !  to  who?  " 

Yes,  Sport,  you  may  wag  your  tail  and  laugh ; 
you  know  "who,"  for  you  are  a  full-grown 
dog,  and  know  all  about  the  great  staring  owl, 
but  with  me  it  was  a  different  matter. 

As  I  remarked  before,  I  think,  my  master 
was  kind,  and  so  was  mistress,  and  they  had 
no  very  small  children  to  torment  a  little  pup. 
Their  little  girl  was  so  sweet  and  kind,  it  was 
always  a  pleasure  to  kiss  her  soft  cheek ;  I  do 
not  believe  she  ever  had  any  nice  thing  to  eat 
that  she  did  not  wish  to  share  with  me. 

Her  brother  was  a  noble  fellow,  too.  Not 
always  so  thoughtful  as  his  sister,  and  some- 
times pretty  rough ;  but  so  long  as  he  did  not 
mean  to  be  ugly  and  hurt  me,  I  could  bear  it. 

The  worst,  I  remember,  was  when  their 
cousins  and  some  of  the  neighbors'  children 
would  come  for  the  afternoon  on  a  visit. 

At  first  I  was  glad  to  see  so  many  little  chil- 
dren, but  I  soon  found  that  all  children  had  not 
such  sweet  dispositions  as  my  master's,  or  else 
their  parents  had  not  taught  them  so  carefully. 

We  all  ran  and  romped,  and  for  a  time  it 
was  jolly  enough ;  but  when  my  young  master 
and  mistress  were  out  of  sight,  one  of  those 
rough  boys  would  do  something  to  torment  me. 
He  pulled  my  ears  and  my  tail ;  once  he  boxed 
my  ears  so  hard  that  I  cried  right  out. 

Then  they  put  me  on  that  donkey's  back,  and 
while  I  was  held  there,  the  creature  made  one 
of  those  dreadful  noises !  Then  I  cried  so  loud 
my  little  mistress  came  and  took  me  away. 

Once  I  was  so  frightened  by  those  rude  chil- 
dren that  I  hid  under  the  barn.  I  could  hear 


MAJOR'S     AUTOBIOGRAPHY. 


them  call  my  name  and  whistle  for  me,  but  I  did 
not  mean  to  come  out  till  the  children  had  gone. 

It  seemed  a  long  time,  but  they  finally  went 
—  I  mean  the  visitors. —  and  then  I  was  only 
too  ready  to  get  out,  for  it  was  growing  pretty 
dark  where  I  was. 

We  were  all  very  much  frightened,  but  when 
master  came  home  he  took  a  big  iron  bar  and 
pried  a  stone  out,  and  made  a  hole  big  enough 
for  me  to  crawl  through  as  easy  as  need  be. 

I  cannot  make  myself  believe  that  those  chil- 
dren remembered  with  pleasure  what  they  had 
done  to  me  that  day.  They  never  looked  sweet 
and  happy  like  little  Lucy  and  her  brother. 

I  long  ago  came  to  the  conclusion  that  if  one 
would  be  happy  he  must  try  to  make  others  so ; 
and  I  do  not  believe  it  makes  much  difference 
whether  he  walks  upon  two  legs  or  four. 

Another  thing,  I  believe  one's  usefulness  de- 
pends very  much  upon  whether  he  keeps  his 
eyes  open  or  not.  Why,  one  does  not  need  to 
be  a  full-grown  dog  to  be  able  to  make  himself 
useful,  and  so  thought  a  great  deal  of. 

Take  my  case,  for  example  :  As  I  was  say- 
ing, even  when  I  was  quite  small  the  hired 
man  used  to  take  me  when  he  went  after  the 
cows  at  night. 

I  suppose  this  was  to  give  me  the  pleasure  of 
a  run  in  the  pasture ;  they  took  old  Sport  along 
to  do  the  work  of  driving.  He,  poor  fellow, 
was  getting  pretty  old,  and  could  not  run  fast ; 
but  he  was  a  good  dog,  and  was  well  educated. 

I  did  not  at  first  understand  how  he  could 
know  so  much  —  how  he  could  tell  the  oxen 
from  the  cows,  and  the  cows  from  the  steers ; 
and  when  there  were  other  cattle  mixed  up  with 
our  master's,  on  the  road  or  anywhere,  how  he 
could  know  which  ones  to  drive  in,  and  which 
to  leave  or  drive  away. 

One  day  as  we  were  waiting  for  the  hired 
man  to  fix  a  little  place  in  the  fence,  Sport  said 
something  that  astonished  me  greatly. 

I  think  I  had  been  saying  how  I  wished  I 
knew  as  much  as  he,  and  could  do  what  he  did. 
Then  he  gave  me  this  hint.  Said  he,  "  I  think 
our  good  master  is  planning  to  have  you  take 
my  place  in  a  few  months.  Soon  I  shall  not 
be  able  to  do  the  work,  and  if  you  watch  out 
you  will  be  able  to  do  all  that  I  have  done. 


Even  now,"  said  he,  "you  are  beginning  to 
save  me  a  great  many  steps  by  starting  up  the 
cattle  which  are  lagging  behind,  or  that  get  out 
of  the  way." 

I  shall  never  forget  how  pleased  I  was.  I 
almost  felt  like  another  dog,  and  was  so  glad 
to  think  that  I  could  do  anything  worth  any 
one's  notice.  I  feel  sure  it  was  a  great  help  to 
me  to  have  him  speak  like  that,  and  cannot  but 
think  that  a  great  many  others  might  be  en- 
couraged in  the  same  way. 

Proud  little  puppy  that  I  was,  I  almost  split 
my  throat  barking  at  the  cattle  that  afternoon, 
and  was  much  pleased  to  see  that  I  could  help. 

Well,  it  was  not  many  weeks  after  that, 
when  one  day  the  hired  man  went  off  fishing, 
and  the  master  was  all  alone  at  home.  It  was 
late  in  the  afternoon,  and  he  was  resting  upon 
the  front  steps,  looking  very  tired,  for  he  was 
not  well.  I  remember  I  had  been  wishing  for 
the  time  to  come  when  I  could  do  something, 


OLD   MAJOR. 


and  would  be  big  enough  to  watch  things. 
You  see  the  fishing  party  had  taken  Sport  with 
them  to  watch  the  wagon.  I  was  thought  too 
young  to  be  taken  off  so  far. 

I  had  felt  pretty  sober  all  the  morning,  but 
the  master  had  spoken  very  kindly  to  me  several 
times,  and  while  sitting  there  had  called  me  to 
him  and  patted  my  head,  and  called  me  a  nice 
little  fellow.  Finally  he  looked  up  from  the 
paper  he  had  been  reading  and  said,  "Well, 
Major,  it  is  about  time  to  go  for  the  cows." 

"Now  is  your  chance,"  I  said  to  myself,  and 
off  over  the  big  stone  wall  I  went.  About  the 
only  thing  I  feared  was  that  he  would  ca1!  me 
back,  but  he  seemed  too  much  surprised  for 
that;  so  I  ran  away  as  fast  as  my  four  feet 
could  carry  me. 


OUR     GRANDPARENTS    AT     SCHOOL. 


I  did  not  know  so  well  then  where  to  look 
for  the  cows,  but  scampered  around  so  fast  that 
I  soon  caught  sight  of  them  and  quickly  had  the 
whole  lot  on  their  way  to  the  yard. 

My  only  mistake  was  in  doing  my  job  too 
well,  for  I  drove  up  the  oxen  and  steers  and 
yearlings  as  well  as  the  cows. 

When  I  had  them  all  near  the  gate  then  I 
barked  as  hard  as  I  could,  and  the  master  came 
and  let  down  the  bars,  and  drove  in  the  cows 
and  let  the  others  go  back. 

Then  I  remembered  how  it  was  generally 
done,  and  felt  much  ashamed  of  my  blunder. 
But  master  called  me  to  him  and  petted  me, 
and  told  me  I  had  been  a  good  fellow.  Then 
late  in  the  evening,  when  the  others  came  home, 
he  told  them  how  I  had  surprised  him  by  driv- 
ing up  the  cows,  and  never  said  a  word  about 


my  mistake  in  driving  up  the  other  cattle.  I 
think  that  was  so  kind  of  him !  I  know  a  great 
many  who  would  have  been  either  so  thought- 
less or  unkind  as  to  have  made  fun  of  a  young- 
ster's little  blunder  when  trying  to  do  his  best. 
But  he  was  not  that  kind  of  a  man.  You 
may  be  sure  I  never  made  that  mistake  again. 

Then  old  Sport  came  over  to  my  kennel,  and 
congratulated  me  heartily  on  driving  up  the 
cows.  All  I  could  do  was  to  thank  him,  and 
tell  him  it  was  because  of  the  way  he  had  en- 
couraged me,  helping  me  to  think  I  mighfr  do 
something. 

There  have  been  many  changes  in  farming 
since  I  can  remember,  but  the  cows  have  to  be 
got  and  milked  just  as  ever,  only  there  seem  to 
be  more  of  them,  and  so  I  must  not  keep  you 
any  longer  this  time.  R. 


OUU  GKANDPARENTS   AT   SCHOOL- 


MAKING  THE  DUST   FLY. 


BABY'S     CORNER. 


BABY'S   CORNER. 

A   HAPPY    LITTLE    GIRL. 

ESSIE  has  good  times.  She 
lives  in  the  country  where  the 
hills  are  white  with  snow. 

Every  morning  after  break- 
fast she  puts  on  her  long  cloak 
and  her  warm  hood  and  mittens,  and  goes  to 
school  with  her  brothers.  The  schoolhouse  is 
half  a  mile  away,  but  she  loves  to  go. 

Sometimes  she  runs  and  draws  her  sled.     It 


BESSIE   GIVES    CARLO   A    RIDE. 

is  a  new  one,  painted  red,  and  is  one  of  her 
Christmas  presents. 

Sometimes  she  sits  on  the  sled,  and  her 
brothers  give  her  a  nice  ride.  They  play  they 
are  ponies,  and  run  very  fast.  Then  Bessie 
shouts  and  laughs,  and  is  happy. 


Their  home  is  in  that  little  house  beyond  the 
hill.  You  can  see  the  roof,  and  the  smoke 
curling  up  from  the  chimney. 

They  are  on  their  way  home  from  school  now. 

Just  as  they  got  to  the  top  of  the  hill  Carlo 
came  to  meet  them.  He  wagged  his  tail  and 
licked  Bessie's  hand,  he  was  so  glad  to  see 
her,  for  Carlo  gets  lonely  without  playmates 
all  day. 

The  boys  saw  a  rabbit  run  through  the  fence, 
and  they  went  up  to  watch  for  it. 

"Carlo  shall  have  a  ride,"  said  Bessie.  So 
she  took  him  in  her  arms  and  got  upon  the  sled 
at  the  top  of  the  hill. 

She  gave  it  a  little  push,  and  away  they 
went,  whiz  !  down  the  long  hill  so  swiftly  and 
smoothly.  Oh  !  it  was  good  fun. 

Two  more  rides  they  took,  then  Charlie 
picked  up  the  bag  and  said,  "  Come,  Bess." 

When  they  get  home  mamma  will  have  a  nice 
warm  supper  ready  for  them. 

After  that  they  will  go  out  and  ride  down 
hill  until  dark. 

MRS.  C.  M.  LIVINGSTON. 


THE    SAND   MAN. 

EACH  night  a  man  goes  round  our  town, 
And  into  eyes  of  blue  and  brown, 
He  sprinkles,  with  a  careful  hand, 
The  finest,  softest  grains  of  sand. 

Then  as  sweet  blossoms  close  at  night, 
O'er  shining  eyes  fall  curtains  white  ; 

For  all  these  precious  grains  of  sand 
Are  gathered  up  in  Slumber  Land. 

'Tis  there  the  peaceful  river  gleams 
Where  children  sail  in  happy  dreams ; 

The  Sand  Man  takes  them  in  his  boat, 
So  off  my  little  pet  must  float. 

MYRA  GOODWIN  PLANTZ. 


TKDDY    AND    MARGARET   CLIMBED  INTO   THE   STRANGE   WAGON. 


IF     I     ONLY     HADN'T!" 


"IF   I   ONLY   HADN'T!" 

OBODY  could  have  started  out 
with  better  iuteiitions  than  did 
Teddy  Brockway  that  bright 
spring  morning.  It  is  true  it 
was  only  March,  but  Teddy 
lived  so  far  South  that  the 
mouth  of  March  meant  spring ;  he  was  dressed 
in  a  neat  spring  suit,  had  his  little  sister  Mar- 
garet by  the  hand,  and  Sally  Amelia,  her 
dollie,  under  his  special  care,  and  was  started 
for  a  trip  all  by  themselves  to  old  Auntie 
Blaikslee's,  almost  a  half-mile  away ! 

"Aren't  you  afraid  to  let  those  two  babies 
go  off  alone?  "  Grandmamma  asked,  looking  up 
from  her  knitting  with  a  somewhat  troubled 
face. 

Mrs.  Brockway  smiled  as  she  answered : 
"  O,  no!  what  could  harm  them?  Teddy 
knows  every  foot  of  the  way  as  well  as  I  do, 
and  every  neighbor  along  the  road ;  and  every- 
body knows  him.  Besides,  he  is  seven  years 
old,  and  I  must  begin  to  trust  him."  However, 
she  went  to  the  door  and  called  after  them : 
"Remember,  Teddy,  I  trust  Margaret  to  you. 
It  isn't  every  little  boy  of  your  age  who  can  be 
depended  upon  to  take  care  of  his  sister.  And, 
Teddy,  remember  you  are  not  to  ride  with  any 
strange  person  who  may  ask  you." 

"Course  not!"  said  Teddy,  with  dignity; 
4 '  not  unless  he  is  Uncle  Ben  or  Deacon  West. 
I  can  ride  with  Deacon  West  —  can't  we, 
muwer?" 

"O,  yes!"  said  Mrs.  Brockway,  smiling. 
"He  is  not  much  more  likely  to  meet  Deacon 
West  on  this  road  than  he  is  to  meet  the  man 
in  the  moon,"  she  said  laughingly  to  grandma, 
"  but  he  has  to  provide  for  all  the  possibilities." 

Two  hours  afterwards  Teddy  and  Margaret, 
with  Sally  Amelia  somewhat  the  worse  for  being 
handled  by  all  the  grandchildren  of  old  Auntie 
Blaikslee,  were  trudging  back  in  triumph.  The 
errand  entrusted  to  them  had  been  carefully 
done,  and  Teddy  had  said  over  the  message  he 
was  to  give  his  mother  until  he  knew  it  by  heart, 
and  had  bravely  resisted  two  invitations  from 
good-natured  teamsters  to  have  a  ride.  He  was 
almost  within  sight  of  the  corner  where  they 


turned  into  their  own  grounds,  and  Margaret 
had  been  good  and  minded  beautifully.  Truth 
to  tell,  Teddy's  heart  was  swelling  with  impor- 
tance ;  he  had  never  before  been  sent  on  so 
long  a  trip  with  only  Margaret  for  company. 
He  felt  at  least  ten  years  old.  At  the  top  of 
the  hill  he  came  to  a  halt.  There,  just  in  front 
of  them,  jogging  comfortably  along,  was  Jake 
Winchell,  Judge  Aker's  hired  man.  Everybody 
knew  Jake  and  his  old  horse  and  cart,  but  no- 
body, or  at  least  Teddy,  had  ever  happened 
to  meet  him  in  that  direction  before ;  his  road 
always  lay  the  other  way. 

"Halloo!  "  he  said,  getting  out  to  fix  some- 
thing about  the  harness,  and  spying  the  chil- 
dren as  he  did  so,  "here's  luck;  an  almost 
empty  cart  and  two  nice  passengers  to  have  a 
ride  in  it  down  the  hill.  Don't  you  want  to 
jump  in?  " 

Teddy  never  wanted  anything  worse.  For 
a  small  minute  he  hesitated.  What  was  that 
"muwer"  had  said?  "You  are  not  to  ride 
with  any  strange  person  who  may  ask  you." 
"Course  not!  "said  Teddy  again,  indignant 
with  himself ;  ' '  just  as  though  Jake  was  a 
strange  person."  But  even  while  his  heart 
said  the  words,  a  voice  away  down  deep  con- 
tradicted it:  "Teddy  Brockway,  don't  you 
know  she  meant  anybody  you  are  not  used  to 
riding  with?  And  you  never  had  a  ride  with 
Jake." 

"What  of  that?"  said  Teddy's  other  thought, 
still  impatiently ;  ' '  that's  because  he  never  comes 
the  way  we  live ;  but  I've  talked  with  him,  and 
muwer  said  she  thought  he  was  kind  to  boys, 
and  patient  with  them,  and  everything.  Just 
as  if  she  would  care  for  Margaret  and  me  to 
ride  down  hill  to  the  gate  !  We're  most  there  ; 
and  it  is  a  bad  hard  hill  for  Margaret ;  and  she 
has  had  a  long  walk." 

"Yes,  sir,  thank  you,"  he  said  aloud  to  Jake, 
smiling  and  bowing  like  a  gentleman.  "I  should 
like  to  ride  ever  so  much,  for  Margaret's  sake ; 
she  is  tired." 

"All  right,"  said  Jake,  with  a  good-natured 
chuckle;  "climb  in  and  I'll  tuck  her  in  after 
you,  and  take  you  a  few  miles  on  your  road  as 
well  as  not." 

Little  Margaret,  who  paid  small  attention  to 


ABOUT     WASHINGTON. 


cautions,  and  who  expected  that  everybody  in 
the  world  was  bound  to  be  kind  to  her  and  help 
take  care  of  her,  took  this  ride  as  a  matter  of 
•course,  and  was  soon  seated  beside  Teddy,  with 
Sally  Amelia  tucked  safely  under  her  arm.  Jake 
•decided  to  walk  down  the  hill.  "It's  a  pretty 
steep  pitch  for  this  part  of  the  world,"  he  ex- 
plained, "and  the  harness  ain't  none  of  the 
.safest;  I  guess  I  better  walk." 

Teddy  looked  at  the  harness  and  trembled. 
What  would  his  mother  say  if  she  could  hear 
that?  Even  now  it  was  not  too  late  to  ask 
Jake  to  set  them  back  again  on  the  dusty  road, 
but  how  he  would  laugh  and  call  him  a  coward  ! 
Teddy  couldn't,  and  the  down-hill  ride  began. 

What  made  that  poor  old  half- blind  -horse 
stumble  on  a  hidden  root  that  -particular  morn- 
ing and  pitch. the  crazy  old  cart  forward  with 
.such  a  sudden  lunge  as  to  send  Teddy  rolling 
•down  the  hill  faster  than  the  horse  could  have 
traveled?  Above  all,  how  did  it  happen  that 
Margaret  did  not  fall  out,  but  lay  flat  in  the 
"bottom  of  the  cart  and  screamed?  Nobody 
Jinows  how  any  of  it  happened.  They  only 
know  that  when  the  almost  distracted  Jake  had 
succeeded  in  getting  the  horse  on  his  feet,  and 
lifting  Margaret  in  his  arms,  and  trying  his  best 
to  hush  her  had  stumbled  with  all  speed  to  the 
spot  where  Teddy  had  stopped  rolling,  the  poor 
little  fellow  had  fainted,  and  had  to  be  carried 
by  Jake  to  the  very  door  of  his  mother's  house, 
Margaret  trudging  solemnly  along  by  his  side, 
occasionally  asking  pitifully  why  Teddy  went 
to  "  s'eep,"  and  why  he  didn't  wake  up. 

Poor  Teddy  "waked  up"  almost  too  soon 
for  his  comfort.  It  had  been  a  terrible  pain, 
when  he  tried  to  pick  himself  up  from  the  road, 
which  had  made  him  faint. 

Days  afterwards,  as  he  lay  in  his  white  bed 
-with  his  leg  done  in  "splints,"  whatever  they 
were,  and  watched  the  long,  bright  spring  days 
full  of  Southern  sunshine  and  sweet  smells,  and 
thought  how  long  it  would  be  before  he  could 

~  CJ 

run  about  again,  he  would  sigh  out  wearily, 
"  O,  muwer !  if  I  only  hadn't !  "  Of  course  his 
mother  tried  to  comfort  him.  Once  she  said : 
"But,  Teddy  dear,  you  did  not  mean  to  do 
wrong.  You  supposed  of  course  that  because 
Jake  was  considered  an  honest,  clean-souled 


man,  mother  would  be  willing  to  have  you  ride 
with  him.  It  was  what  we  call  an  error  in 
judgment.  If  I  were  you  I  would  be  glad  that 
you  escaped  with  only  a  broken  leg,  and  that 
dear  little  Margaret  was  'not  hurt  at  all,  and 
then  try  to  forget  about  it." 

Teddy  considered  this  for  some  minutes  with 
a  grave  face,  and  in  his  eyes  an  earnest  longing 
to  take  the  comfort  to  his  heart.  But  at  last 
he  spoke,  in  the  slow,  old-fashioned  way  he 
sometimes  had  :  ' '  No,  muwer,  it  was  au  error 
in  want-to !  I  knew  '  not  to  ride  with  any 
strange  person'  meant  with  any  person  that 
you  had  not  let  me  ride  with  before ;  and  I 
knew  I  wasn't  doing  real  heart  right;  so  if 
Margaret  had  been  hurt  it  would  have  been  my 
fault.  O,  muwer !  if  I  only  hadn't !  " 

PANSY. 


ABOUT   WASHINGTON. 

BY    THE    PANSIES. 

READ  a  letter  written  by  Mrs. 
President  Adams  in  1796.  In 
it  she  complains  that  there  are 
not  nearly  lamps  enough  to 
light  the  White  House  decently, 
and  that  the  making  of  the  daily 
fires  in  all  the  rooms,  "to  keep  off  the  ague," 
occupies  the  entire  time  of  one  or  two  servants. 
She  says  there  are  no  looking-glasses  in  the 
house  but  "  dwarfs."  I  think  Mrs.  President 
Harrison  must  have  found  a  very  different  state 
of  things.  It  is  just  like  women  to  complain 
about  there  not  being  looking-glasses  ! 

JOHN  WEST. 


MY  great-grandfather  used  to  be  in  Washing- 
ton in  Congress,  when  Daniel  Webster  was 
there.  My  father  has  told  me  all  about  it; 
they  had  great  speeches.  Grandfather  heard 
Henry  Clay  when  he  made  his  wonderful  speech. 
I'd  like  to  have  been  with  him !  Father  read  to 
us  last  night  about  the  speech,  and  in  the  book 
it  said  there  were  at  that  time  two  little  boys, 
one  eight  years  old  and  the  other  ten,  whom 
nobody  knew  anything  about  until  afterwards. 


ABOUT     WASHINGTON. 


One  of  them  went  to  a  primary  school  in  Boston 
and  studied  a  primer,  and  the  other  didn't  go  to 
school  at  all,  but  had  to  work  hard.  The  primer 
boy  was  named  Sumner,  and  the  other  boy  was 
Abraham  Lincoln.  I  guess  if  the  people  in 
"Washington  had  known  what  those  two  boys 
were  going  to  do  a  little  later,  they  would  have 
been  astonished.  LINCOLN  STEVENSON. 


MY  father  and  mother  lived  in  Washington  in 
1860.  Father  says  it  wasn't  much  like  a  city 
then ;  there  were  no  street  cars,  and  they  did 
not  light  the  streets,  only  Pennsylvania  Avenue, 
and  they  got  their  water  from  pumps  or  springs. 
There  were  no  sewers,  and  the  streets  were  not 
paved,  and  the  parks  were  all  full  of  weeds. 
He  told  me  about  it  one  day  last  spring  when 
we  were  in  Washington,  and  sat  under  the  trees 


in  beautiful  Stantoii  Square.  I  could  hardly 
believe  that  the  lovely  city  ever  looked  as  he 
described  it.  And  to  think  that  that  was  only 
a  little  over  thirty  years  ago !  Father  says  the 
changes  seem  like  a  dream  to  him. 

LILIAN  PRESCOTT. 


IN  1808  there  were  only  about  five  thousand 
people  in  Washington,  and  lots  of  fun  was  made 
of  the  city.  A  great  many  people  wanted  the 
Capitol  moved  farther  North,  and  the  papers 
were  filled  with  jokes  about  the  "City  in  the 
mud,"  "City  of  streets  without  houses,"  " Capi- 
tol of  huts,"  and  all  that  sort  of  thing.  I  wish 
some  of  those  simpletons  who  wrote  that  way 
could  ride  down  Pennsylvania  Avenue  now ! 
But  they  can't,  because  they  are  all  dead. 

ARTHUR  «BURKHARDT. 


MY  mother  used  to  be  in  Washington  when 
the  Northwest,  where  so  many  elegant  houses 
are,  was  just  a  great  swamp  !  When  we  were 
there  a  year  ago  she  took  me  to  walk  on  Con- 
necticut Avenue,  and  showed  me  where  she  and 
Aunt  Nannie  used  to  play  hide-and-seek.  The 
elegant  building  belonging  to  the  British  Lega- 
tion stands  there  now,  and  in  every  direction 
the  houses  and  lawns  are  lovely !  I  asked 
mamma  how  they  came  to  be  allowed  to  play 
on  such  an  elegant  street,  and  she  laughed,  and 
said  nobody  in  those  days  thought  of  such  a 
thing  as  its  ever  being  elegant  around  there. 
It  seems  queer  to  think  what  changes  there 
must  have  been  in  a  few  years.  My  Auntie 
lives  on  Connecticut  Avenue  now,  and  I  think 
it  is  one  of  the  prettiest  streets  in  Washington. 

ALICE  BARNES. 


MY  brother  Robert  liked  the  great  dome  best, 
but  I  was  very  fond  of  the  bronze  door  at  the 
main  entrance  of  the  Capitol.  I  had  just  been 
studying  all  about  Columbus  when  I  went  to 
Washington,  and  it  was  so  interesting  to  see 
his  history  carved  on  the  door.  Then  I  staid 
in  the  rotunda  a  long  time.  I  like  round  rooms 
when  they  are  very  large.  The  paintings  are 
beautiful.  There  was  one  of  Columbus  land- 
ing, and  one  which  showed  the  Pilgrims  just 
starting,  and  one  of  Pocahontas  being  baptized. 


ABOUT     WASHINGTON. 


I  like  to  look  at  pictures  of  things  that  I  know 
about.  Of  course  I  went  up  the  round-and- 
rouiid  iron  stairway  which  leads  to  the  dome. 
I  stood  under  the  statue  of  Freedom  and  looked 
down  at  the  city.  It  was  beautiful. 

CARRIE  FOSTER. 


WE  went,  last  winter,  to  the  Library  of  Con- 
gress. My  uncle  went  almost  every  day,  and 
I  had  to  go  with  him,  because  I  had  nowhere 
else  to  go  while  he  was  there ;  but  I  had  a  nice 
book  to  read,  and  I  liked  it.  The  room  is  made 
of  iron  —  I  mean  the  shelves  and  rafters  and 
all  those  things  are  —  and  the  roof  is  of  copper. 


get  books  enough  to  last  for  a  century,  but 
hundreds  of  thousands  of  dollars  have  been 
spent  for  them  since.  I  saw  the  new  library 
building  going  up.  It  is  to  cost  nearly  five 
millions.  When  it  is  finished  they  will  have 
room  for  four  million  books !  It  is  to  have  a 
gallery  three  hundred  and  fifty  feet  long,  for 
pictures  and  beautiful  things. 

My  uncle  says  this  letter  is  too  long ;  but  I 
do  not  know  what  to  leave  out,  so  I  will  send  it. 
MARGARET  WINTERS. 


I  WENT  to  Congress  two  or  three  times  last 
winter.     They  behave  better  in  the  Senate  than 


VIEW  OF   THE   CAPITOL. 


It  is  said  to  be  the  only  library  in  the  world 
that  is  entirely  fire  proof.  There  are  more  than 
six  hundred  thousand  books,  and  thousands  and 
thousands  of  pamphlets  in  this  library.  Every 
book  which  has  been  copyrighted  has  to  send 
two  copies  to  the  library.  It  is  about  ninety 
years  since  books  were  first  gathered  there.  It 
was  in  1800  that  Congress  voted  to  use  five 
thousand  dollars  toward  buying  books  for  a 
library.  I  suppose  they  thought  that  would 


they  do  in  the  House.  In  fact,  I  don't  think 
the  people  in  the  House  were  gentlemanly. 
They  smoked,  and  they  quarreled,  and  three  or 
four  tried  to  talk  at  once  !  ANNA  BROOKS. 

[This  by  no  means  exhausts  the  items  of  interest  about 
Washington,  but  the  article  grows  so  long  that  we  must  omit 
the  others,  sorry  as  we  are  to  .do  so.  It  is  certainly  a  great 
pleasure  to  find  our  Pansies  so  wide  awake,  and  so  successful 
in  selecting  items  which  cannot  fail  to  interest  others.  Remem- 
ber the  next  city,  and  be  in  time  for  us  to  make  careful 
selections.  —  EDITORS.] 


MAJOR'S    AUTOBIOGRAPHY. 


MAJOR'S   AUTOBIOGRAPHY, 
n. 

ALTHOUGH  I  am  a  dog  myself 
I  do  wonder  how  some  of  my 
race  can  afford  to  waste  so 
much  love  upon  masters  who 
have  so  little  love  for  them,  or, 
it  would  seem,  for  any  one  else. 

Now,  for  instance,  there  is  Mr.  Billings  who 
lives  on  the  hill ;  just  think  how  he  ill-treats 
and  almost  starves  his  dog,  cuffing,  scolding, 
licking  him ;  and  yet  that  poor  fellow  is  just  as 
glad  to  see  him  the  next  time  as  though  he  had 
been  petted,  and  is  ready  to  hunt,  drive  cows 
or  sheep,  or  watch  all  night. 

I  have  known  that  dog  ever  since  he  came 
into  the  neighborhood,  and  I  knew  old  man  Bil- 
lings long  before. 

Being  up  that  way  I  had  a  few  words  with 
friend  Dash  the  day  he  arrived.  I  found  him 
to  be  friendly  —  a  dog  that  any  man  might  love 
and  be  proud  of.  I  was  awfully  sorry  for  him 
then,  and  have  been  ever  since,  for  I  did  not 
think  much  of  his  master. 

Sometimes,  when  I  see  the  poor  fellow  com- 
ing, looking  so  lean  and  hungry,  I  run  out  into 
the  road  with  the  best  bone  I  have  on  hand,  for 
a  bit  of  a  lunch,  and  leave  it  where  I  know  Dash 
will  find  it.  My !  it  does  me  good  to  see  him 
take  it  down. 

I  often  think  of  him  trotting  for  fifteen  or 
twenty  miles  after  that  team,  and  as  likely  as 
not  without  a  mouthful  of  breakfast  before 
starting. 

This  is  not  mere  surmise ;  he  told  me  so  one 
day  —  said  he  had  been  all  day  with  nothing  to 
eat  but  a  scrap  or  two  which  he  happened  to 
find  on  the  way ;  for  he  had  not  time  to  hunt 
for  anything  while  in  town,  because  he  had  to 
stay  and  watch  the  things  in  the  wagon.  It's 
too  bad,  too  bad ! 

Just  think  what  Dash  has  done  for  that  man ! 

You  never  heard  about  it? 

Well,  I  will  tell  you.  It  was  in  the  spring  of 
last  year  —  the  time  for  washing  sheep.  When 
Mr.  Billings  went  for  his  sheep,  all  his  children 
who  were  big  enough  to  help  drive  went  along. 


As  he  never  pets  anything  that  he  has,  so  he 
never  petted  his  sheep,  therefore  as  soon  as 
they  heard  him  call  they  were  much  more  afraid 
of  him  than  they  would  have  been  of  our  mas- 
ter, I  really  believe,  so  away  they  went  as  fast 
as  their  legs  could  carry  them. 

If  it  had  not  been  for  Dash,  Mr.  Billings  and 
all  his  boys  could  never  have  penned  those 
creatures.  But  he  seemed  to  know  just  what 
to  do,  and  it  was  not  long  before  they  seemed 
to  feel  as  though  they  had  found  a  friend  in- 
stead of  an  enemy  in  this  dog ;  he  worked  like 
a  good  fellow,  as  he  is. 

After  much  skillful  maneuvering,  hard  run- 
ning and  gentle  barking,  the  sheep  were  all 
finally  gotten  into  the  pen,  where  Billings  and 
his  boys  could  take  them  one  by  one  and  wash 
them  with  the  water  which  fell  over  the  dam. 

After  the  father  and  older  boys  were  gone, 
little  Bennie  Billings,  who  is  only  a  few  months 
more  than  three  years  old,  crawled  through  the 
garden  fence  and  started  after  the  others. 

His  mother  did  not  miss  him,  thinking  he 
had  gone  with  his  brothers.  As  it  was,  Bennie 
came  trotting  along  while  the  rest  were  absorbed 
in  the  work  of  washing  sheep,  and  so  was  not 
noticed  by  any  one  of  them. 

But  faithful  Dash  had  his  eye  upon  him  all 
the  while,  and  felt  that  it  was  more  important 
that  he  should  look  after  the  boy  than  the  lambs. 

He  tried  hard  to  keep  between  Bennie  and 
the  water,  but  this  he  was  not  long  able  to  do. 

Sliding  down  the  bank  the  boy  crawled  out 
upon  a  slippery  rock,  and  from  that  fell  into 
the  water. 

It  was  deep,  and  Dash  had  all  he  could  do  to 
drag  the  little  fellow  to  the  land.  He  could  not 
pull  him  out;  but  holding  on  as  well  as  he 
could,  he  growled  very  loud. 

Dash  was  getting  pretty  tired,  and  the  case 
was  growing  desperate,  when  a  neighbor  hear- 
ing the  growl,  came  to  the  rescue. 

Poor  Bennie  was  almost  gone  ;  he  would  not 
have  lived  much  longer;  but  if  help  had  not 
come,  Dash  would  have  died  with  the  little  chap 
he  was  trying  to  save. 

Think  of  that  father  kicking  Dash  after  that, 
or  ever  forgetting  to  give  him  all  he  needed  to 
eat !  You  would  think  the  boy's  mother  would 


MAJOR'S     AUTOBIOGRAPHY. 


look  after  her  child's  rescuer ;  but  it  is  said  she 
has  little  to  do  with. 

It  would  not  seem  so  strange  if  the  faithful 
fellow  were  not  all  the  time  doing  things  worthy 
of  being  remembered. 

It  was  only  last  fall,  when  the  corn  was  well 
grown,  that  this  hard  master  came  home  one 
rainy  night  and  forgot  to  fasten  the  gate  after 
him.  There  were  a  great  many  cattle  upon  the 
road,  and  Dash  told  me  he  could  hear  the  bell 
upon  one  old  cow  dingling  away  as  plain  as  day 
all  the  time  the  master  was  unharnessing  the 
horses.  He  said  he  ran  out  by  the  gate  and 
barked  as  loud  as  he  could  when  Mr.  Billings 
was  going  into  the  house;  but  it  did  no  good. 
So  there  was  nothing  for  him  to  do  but  go  and 
stay  there  all  night  in  the  hard  rain. 

Telling  me  about  it  he  said  :  "  I  wouldn't  have 
minded  it,  though  it  was  so  cold  and  wet,  if 
master  had  noticed  it;  if  he  had  just  said, 
'  Good  faithful  fellow,  you  saved  our  garden 
and  cornfield ! '  but  he  never  noticed  me  except 
to  scold  me  for  getting  in  the  way  when  I  came 
into  the  kitchen  to  warm  myself  a  little,  though 
he  knew  there  were  more  than  twenty  head  of 
cattle  which  would  have  been  in  that  garden 
and  cornfield  if  I  had  not  kept  them  out." 

But  for  all  that  he  would  do  the  same  things 
over  again,  or  anything  else  that  he  can  do  for 
the  comfort  and  help  of  his  hard  master. 

I  suspect  Dash  misses  these  little  kindnesses 
more  for  the  reason  that  he  has  not  always  been 
used  to  such  treatment. 

You  see  he  once  had  a  good  master ;  but  the 
man  was  taken  ill  and  had  to  go  away,  and  for 
some  reason  could  not  take  Dash  with  him. 

One  day  when  we  met  down  town  near  the 
post-office  he  told  me  this  story. 

By  some  mishap  the  house  of  his  former 
master  took  fire.  How  it  happened  he  did  not 
seem  to  know.  The  mistress  had  gone  into  a 
neighbor's  house  for  a  few  moments,  and  had 
left  her  baby  asleep  in  the  cradle,  in  charge  of 
a  little  girl,  while  Dash  watched  at  the  front 
gate  to  see  that  no  tramp  came  in. 

Said  he,  "I  smelt  something,  and  looked 
around  just  in  time  to  see  that  little  girl  as  she 
ran  out  of  the  front  door  crying  '  Fire  ! ' 

"In  a  moment  I  thought  of  Baby,  and  saw 


that  the  girl  had  left  it  in  the  house ;  so  I 
dashed  through  the  door  and  into  the  thick 
smoke,  and  finding  the  cradl,e  I  caught  the  child 
by  his  frock,  and  pulling  with  all  my  might  I 
got  him  out  on  the  floor  and  dragged  him  to  the 
door.  Just  as  I  got  him  to  the  first  step,  where 
we  could  breathe  again,  the  mother  arrived. 

"But  she  came  too  late  to  have  saved  her 
baby  if  it  had  been  in  the  cradle  then,  for  that 
was  already  in  full  blaze.  As  it  was,  the  poor 
thing  was  almost  smothered  with  the  smoke. 

' '  How  that  mother  hugged  and  kissed  me  ! 
She  made  so  much  ado  about  it  that  I  felt  almost 
ashamed.  Yet  I  must  confess  it  was  gratify- 
ing to  know  that  the  mother  appreciated  what 
I  had  done. 

"Well,  after  that  there  was  nothing  in  the 
house  too  good  for  me  to  eat,  no  place  where  I 
was  not  welcome,  no  kennel  too  nice  for  me  to 
sleep  in,  nor  was  there  any  lack  of  petting." 

Just  imagine  what  a  change  from  a  horns 
such  as  that,  to  the  miserable  one  he  now  has 
to  endure. 

I  do  feel  so  sorry  for  him ! 

Sometimes  I  feel  as  though  I  should  not  be 
as  faithful  as  Dash  is  if  I  were  in  his  place ; 
yet  I  must  not  forget  that  duty  is  duty,  and  that 
one  must  not  do  wrong  because  he  has  not  been 
treated  as  he  should  be. 

If  this  poor  fellow's  case  were  a  solitary  one, 
it  would  not  seem  so  bad ;  but  I  am  sorry  to 
say  that  all  over  our  land  there  are  as  faithful 
fellows  as  Dash  treated  no  better  than  he. 

Think  of  those  dogs  with  dninkeii  masters ! 
Think  how  much  they  have  to  endure  of  hunger 
and  cold  and  abuse,  though  they  are  as  faithful 
as  life.  I  can  hardly  keep  from  growling  when 
I  think  of  it ! 

But  I  must  not  talk  in  this  way  any  longer 
to-day.  I  have  spent  the  hour  speaking  of 
another,  so  we  must  wait  till  some  other  time 
before  I  can  tell  you  anything  more  of  my  own 
experience. 

Indeed  I  was  not  intending  to  talk  all  the 
time  about  myself ;  I  would  like  to  set  before 
you  a  little  of  the  lives  of  the  best  of  our  race, 
such  as  will  afford  you  excellent  examples  for 
imitation,  that  your  lives  may  be  good  and  true. 

R. 


MAJOR'S     AUTOBIOGRAPHY. 


BENJJIE'S  FRIEND. 


SILENT     PARTNERS, 


SILENT   PARTNERS. 


VESUVIUS. 


VESUVIUS. 

EARLY  two  thousand  years  ago 
there  was  a  mountain,  and  its 
name  was  Vesuvius.  From  the 
foot  of  it  to  the  very  top  it  was 
almost  like  a  garden. 

At  the  bottom  were  two  great 
cities,  called  Herculaneum  and  Pompeii.  The 
mountain  is  there  now,  and  near  it  is  the  city 
of  Naples  in  Italy. 

One  day,  when  everything  was  going  on  in 


street,  some  took  to  the  boats  and  rowed  away 
as  fast  as  possible,  some  screamed.  Children 
clung  to  their  mothers,  hiding  their  faces  in 
their  dresses.  Animals  broke  away  and  ran 
furiously,  dashing  themselves  against  the  rocks 
or  plunging  into  the  sea ;  the  very  birds  sighed 
as  they  swept  through  the  sky. 

The  mountain  —  this  Vesuvius  —  was  on  fire  ; 
the  fire  was  spouting  from  its  top  in  terrific 
forms.  Smoke,  such  as  you  have  never  seen 
it,  leaped  as  the  darkest  thunder  clouds  upward, 
while  melted  earth  and  rock  ran  down  the  sides 


ERUPTION  OF   VKSUVIUS,    1880. 


those  great  cities  just  as  usual,  an  awful  sound 
was  heard  like  the  firing  of  ten  thousand  of  the 
biggest  cannon;  the  earth  shook  as  if  it  was 
going  to  pieces,  then  it  grew  dark  like  night. 
The  sky  was  filled  with  flying  cinders,  or  some- 
thing like  ashes ;  the  air  had  a  sulphurous  smell. 
All  the  people  wondered.  Some  ran  into  the 


of  Vesuvius  like  a  devouring  flood.  Before  it, 
the  gardens  fled  away.  On  it  came,  rushing, 
foaming,  burning.  It  leaped  upon  the  houses 
and  buried  them,  whole  streets  at  once.  So 
suddenly  it  came  that  few  of  the  people  escaped. 
What  a  time  was  that ! 

Think   of    a   whole    city,   like    Philadelphia, 


AURORA     LEIGH. 


"buried  ten  or  twenty  feet  deep,  so  that  in  the 
place  of  the  grand  palaces,  stores  and  temples, 
nothing  was  seen  but  a  smoking  furnace — red- 
hot  lava ! 

Not  a  great  while  since  people  began  to  dig. 
They  dug  and  dug,  and  after  years  of  digging 
there  were  the  streets  again  and  buildings,  the 
merchant  selling  his  goods,  babies  sleeping  in 
their  mamma's  arms,  a  bride  and  groom  stand- 
ing up  to  be  married,  a  funeral  procession  com- 
ing from  a  house,  a  miser  counting  his  money, 
a  cruel  father  beating  his  child,  a  loving  mother 
kissing  her  son,  a  marriage  feast  in  this  house, 
a  dying  parent  in  that.  Just  as  the  fierce, 
quick  flood  of  lavaf  found  them,  so  it  buried 
them,  and  so  they  were  found  after  nearly  two 
thousand  years ! 

Since  that  awful  day  the  volcano,  Vesuvius, 
has  been  on  fire  again  and  again.  L. 


AURORA    LEIGH. 

(English  Literature  Papers.) 

OW  many  of  my  Pansies  are 
acquainted  with  her?  She  is 
"a  woman  in  a  book,"  and 
the  book  was  written  by  a 
woman  of  whom  you  have 
surely  heard — Elizabeth  Bar- 
rett Browning.  I  want  you  to  know  something 
about  this  story  book  and  its  author.  There 
are  those  who  think  the  story  is  too  "grown- 
up "  to  interest  children ;  but  that  is  because 
they  do  not  understand  certain  kinds  of  chil- 
dren very  well.  When  I  was  a  little  girl  of 
ten,  I  was  very  fond  of  narrative  poems,  and 
read  some  which  were  judged  far  above  my 
u  uder  standing . 

Would  you  like  a  picture  of  Aurora's  room, 
as  she  describes  it  ?     Listen  : 

"  I  had  a  little  chamber  in  the  house 

As  green  as  any  privet  hedge  a  bird 

Mit^ht  choose  to  build  in.     ... 

The-  walls  were  green,  the  carpet  was  pure  green, 

The  straight  small  bed  was  curtained  greenly, 

And  the  folds  hung  green  about  the  window, 

Which  let  in  the  out-door  world  with  all  its  greenery. 

You  could  not  push  your  head  out  and  escape 

A  dash  of  dawn-dew  from  the  honeysuckle." 


Poor  Aurora  lost  her  mother  when  she  was 
four  years  old,  and  her  dear,  dear  father  when 
she  was  just  a  little  girl.  Then  she  sailed  across 
the  ocean  from  her  home  in  Italy  to  her  father's 
old  home  in  England.  When  she  first  saw  Eng- 
lish soil,  this  is  the  way  she  felt : 

.     .     .     "oh,  the  frosty  cliffs  looked  cold  upon  me! 
Could  I  find  a  home  among  those  mean  red  houses, 
Through  the  fog?    .     .    .    Was  this  my  father's  England? 

I  think  I  see  my  father's  sister  stand 

Upon  the  hall-step  of  her  country  house 

To  give  me  welcome.     She  stood  straight  and  calm, 

Her  somewhat  narrow  forehead  braided  tight 

As  if  for  taming  accidental  thoughts 

From  possible  quick  pulses.     Brown  hair 

Pricked  with  gray  by  frigid  use  of  life. 

A  nose  drawn  sharply,  yet  in  delicate  lines; 

A  close  mild  mouth     .     .     .    eyes  of  no  color; 

Once  they  might  have  smiled,  but  never,  never 

Have  forgot  themselves  in  smiling." 

You  cannot  imagine,  I  think,  any  life  more 
unlike  what  Aurora  had  been  used  to  in  her 
home  in  Florence,  than  the  one  to  which  she 
came  in  England.  She  describes  her  aunt's 
life  as  — 

"A  sort  of  cage-bird  life,  born  in  a  cage, 

Accounting  that  to  leap  from  perch  to  perch 

Was  act  and  joy  enough  for  any  bird. 

Dear  Heaven,  how  silly  are  the  things 

That  live  in  thickets,  and  eat  berries! 

I,  alas,  a  wild  bird  scarcely  fledged, 

Was  brought  to  her  cage,  and  she  was  there  to  meet  me. 

Very  kind!   '  Bring  the  clean  water;  give  out  the  fresh  seed! '  " 

You  wonder  what  sort  of  a  little  girl  she  was  ? 
She  tells  us : 

"  I  was  a  good  child  on  the  whole, 

A  meek  and  manageable  child.     Why  not? 

I  did  not  live  to  have  the  faults  of  life. 

There  seemed  more  true  life  in  my  father's  grave 

Than  in  all  England 

At  first  I  felt  no  life  which  was  not  patience; 

Did  the  thing  she  bade  me,  without  heed 

To  a  thing  beyond  it ;  sat  in  just  the  chair  she  placed 

With  back  against  the  window,  to  exclude  ( 

The  sight  of  the  great  lime-tree  on  the  lawn, 

Which  seemed  to  have  come  on  purpose  from  the  woods 

To  bring  the  house  a  message." 

So  quiet  was  she,  and  pale,  and  sad,  that  her 
aunt's  friends  visiting  there,  whispered  about 
her  that  "the  child  from  Florence  looked  ill, 
and  would  not  live  long."  This  made  her  glad, 
for  she  was  homesick  for  her  father's  grave. 
But  her  cousin,  Romney  Leigh,  a  boy  somewhat 


AURORA     LEIGH. 


older  than  herself,  took  her  to  task  for  this. 
He  said  to  her  : 

"  You're  wicked  now.     You  wish  to  die, 
And  leave  the  world  a-dusk  for  others, 
With  your  naughty  light  blown  out." 

Well,  she  did  not  die,  but  lived  to  be  a  sweet, 
proud,  brave,  foolish,  sorrowful,  glad,  happy 
woman !  You  think  my  words  contradict  one 
another?  No ;  they  may  belong  to  one  life,  and 
often  do. 

I  do  not  mean  that  you  will  be  interested  in 
all  her  story — hers  and  "Cousin  Romney's" — 
not  yet  awhile.  Some  day  you  will  read  it, 
study  it,  I  hope,  for  the  beauty  of  the  language, 
and  for  the  moral  power  there  is  in  it.  Just 
now,  my  main  object  is  to  introduce  you,  so 
that  when  you  hear  the  name  "Aurora  Leigh," 
you  may  be  able  to  say :  "I  know  her ;  she  is 
one  of  Mrs.  Browning's  characters  —  a  little 
girl  from  Florence,  who  lived  with  an  aunt  in 
England."  Or  when  you  hear  Mrs.  Browning's 
name,  you  will  say,  or  think :  ' '  She  wrote  a 
long  poem  once,  named  Aurora  Leigh." 

Why  should  you  care  to  know  that?  Because, 
my  dear,  it  is  a  little  crumb  of  knowledge  about 
English  Literature,  a  study  which  I  am  hoping 
you  are  going  to  greatly  enjoy  by  and  by. 

Oh !  Mrs.  Browning  wrote  many  other  poems, 
though  the  one  about  which  we  have  been  talk- 
ing is  perhaps  considered  her  greatest.  There 
are  some  which  I  think  you  must  know  and  love. 
For  instance : 

"  Little  Ellie  sits  alone 

'Mid  the  beeches  of  a  meadow, 
By  a  stream-side  on  the  grass ; 
And  the  trees  are  showering  down 

Doubles  of  their  leaves  in  shadow, 
On  her  shining  hair  and  face. 

"  She  has  thrown  her  bonnet  by, 
And  her  feet  she  has  beer,  dipping 

In  the  shallow  water's  flow; 

Now  she  holds  them  nakedly 
In  her  hands,  all  sleek  and  dripping, 

While  she  rocketh  to  and  fro. 

"  Little  Ellie  sits  alone, 

And  the  smile  she  softly  uses 
Fills  the  silence  like  a  speech ; 
While  she  thinks  what  shall  be  done  — 

And  the  sweetest  pleasure  chooses 
For  her  future  within  reach." 


There  are  seventeen  verses ;  of  course  I  have 
not  room  for  them,  but  you  will  like  to  find  the 
poem  and  read  for  yourselves.  It  is  entitled 
"  The  Romance  of  the  Swan's  Nest." 

Then  there  is  that  wonderful  poem  of  hers 
called  "  The  Cry  of  the  Children."  Surely  you 
ought  to  know  of  that.  It  was  suggested  to 
her  by  reading  the  report  which  told  about  chil- 
dren being  employed  in  the  mines  and  manu- 
factories of  England.  It  is  said  that  Mrs. 
Browning's  poem  was  the  means  of  pushing  an 
act  of  Parliament  which  forbade  the  employ- 
ment of  young  children  in  this  way.  The  poem 
has  thirteen  long  verses,  every  one  of  which 
you  should  carefully  read.  Let  me  give  you 
just  a  taste  : 

"Do  you  hear  the  children  weeping,  0,  my  brothers! 

Ere  the  sorrow  comes  with  years? 
They  are  leaning  their  young  heads  against  their  mothers, 

And  that  cannot  stop  their  tears ! 
The  young  lambs  are  bleating  in  the  meadows ; 

The  young  birds  are  chirping  in  the  nest ; 
The  young  fawns  are  playing  with  the  shadows; 

The  young  flowers  are  blowing  toward  the  west; 
But  the  young,  young  children,  0,  my  brothers! 

They  are  weeping  bitterly. 
They  are  weeping  in  the  playtime  of  the  others, 

In  the  country  of  the  free. 


"  '  True,'  say  the  children,  '  it  may  happen 

That  we  die  before  our  time ; 
Little  Alice  died  last  year;  her  grave  is  shapen 

Like  a  snowball  in  the  rime. 
We  looked  into  the  pit  prepared  to  take  her; 

There's  no  room  for  any  work  in  the  coarse  clay; 
From  the  sleep  wherein  she  lieth  none  will  wake  her, 

Crying  '  Get  up,  little  Alice !  it  is  day.' 
If  you  listen  by  that  grave  in  sun  and  shower, 
With  your  ear  down,  little  Alice  never  cries. 
Could  we  see  her  face,  be  sure  we  should  not  know  her, 

For  the  smile  has  time  for  growing  in  her  eyes. 
And  merry  go  her  moments,  lulled  and  stilled 

In  the  shroud  by  the  kirk-chime. 
'  It  is  good,  when  it  happens,'  say  the  children, 
'  That  we  die  before  our  time.'  " 


It  will  never  do  to  take  more  room  with  this 
paper,  and  I  have  told  you  almost  nothing  about 
the  dear  lady  who  voiced  the  children's  cry  so 
wonderfully,  and  to  such  purpose !  Suppose 
you  let  me  take  her  story,  little  bits  of  it,  for 
the  next  PANSY.  Besides,  I  want  to  introduce 
you  to  her  dear  "  Flush." 

PANSY. 


AURORA     LEIGH. 


MRS.  BROWSING'S  AURORA  LJUGH. 


BABY'S     CORNEE. 


BABY'S    CORNER. 


pails  were  full  of  sap  John,  the  hired  man, 
brought  it  into  the  little  sugar  house  and  boiled 
it,  and  made  nice 


A    GOOD    TIME. 

» 

cakes  of  maple  sugar. 

HIS  is  Trudy.     She  is  all  ready  The  house    had  a 
to  go  with  papa.  great    fireplace.      A 
They  are  going   up    in    the  bright  fire  was  crack- 
woods  to  the  "  sugar  bush."  ling  there. 

It  is  April  —  a  bright,  sun-  Trudy  sat  down  on 

shiny  day,  but  the  wind  is  cold,  so  she  has  to  a  stool  and  warmed 

wear  her  warm  coat  and  hood.  her  toes. 

As  Trudy  ran  along  through  the  woods  she  There    was    a  big 

TRUDY. 

saw  a  little  bluebird  singing  on  a  branch,  and     black  kettle  over  the 

she  found  yellow  violets  and  tiny  blue  flowers     fire  ;  it  was  almost  full  of  sap.     It  bubbled  and 

boiled  and  made  a  good  smell. 

John  stirred  it  with  a  long  wooden 
spoon.  He  stirred  and  stirred  a  long 
time,  and  the  fire  snapped  and  the  sap 
boiled,  and  Trudy  watched,  and  by  and 
by  it  was  done  ! 

Then  papa  got  a  pan  of  snow,  and 
John  dropped  little  bits  from  the  spuou 
all  over  the  snow. 

When  it  was  cool  Trudy  put  in  her 
thumb  and  finger,  and  plump  !  went  one 
of  the  little  brown  balls  into  her  mouth. 
Oh!  but  it  was  good.  Trudy  thought 
maple  candy  was  ever  so  much  better 
than  the  pink  and  white  stuff  she  bought 
at  the  stores. 

She  ate  and  ate,  till  papa  said,  "No 
more,  dearie."  So  she  carried  the  rest 
of  it  to  little  brother. 

They   rode  home*  on   the  wood  sled, 

with  a  long  drawn  by  two  big  oxen.  Trudy  said  it  was 
name.  They  just  the  "  beautifulest  time"  she  ever  had  in 
had  just  poked  her  life. 

up  their  heads         She   whispered   to    papa   that   she    thought 
through  the     God    was   very    good   to   make    so   many  big 
snow.      Brave  little  blossoms  they  were  !  trees  full  of  candy  just  to  please  little  girls 

Wooden  pails  hung  on  all  the  maple-trees,     and  boys. 
The  sap  was  running   into  them.     When   the  MRS.   C.  M.   LIVINGSTON. 


THE     LITTLE     QUEEN.  — A     WONDERFUL     STONE. 


HERE  you  have  a  fine  Holland 
house,  a  palace  rather.  Come, 
let  us  go  in.  Just  think,  you 
have  a  royal  invitation.  Well, 
here  we  are.  In  this  elegant 
room  is  a  kingly  throne.  In 
that  beautiful  chair  sits  the  little  Queen  of 
Holland. 

Doesn't  this  Miss  look  like  a  wise  sov- 
ereign, able  to  command  armies  and  navies  and 
make  laws? 

Now  you  laugh.  But  come  out  into  her 
big  back  yard,  and  you  shall  see  our  little 
maid  rule  her  subjects.  See  hoAv  obedient 
they  are,  running  to  her  or  fleeing  from  her  as 
fast  as  their  legs  can  carry  them  —  and  their 
wings  too  — 
"Wings!  " 

Why,  bless  you,  yes.  This  little  Queen 
has  one  hundred  and  fifty  cooing  doves.  She 
is  their  beloved  mistress,  feeding  and  fond- 
ling them,  calling  them  by  name,  they  laugh- 
ing, singing,  talking  for  her,  after  the  dear 
dove  fashion. 

But  look !  there  comes  the  Shetland  pony, 
and  quick  as  a  cat  she  is  on  his  back,  and  away 


they  go  down  the  road,  gallopty,  gallop,  she 
tossing  back  a  kiss  to  her  mamma,  the  Queen 
Regent,  who  looks  from  the  palace  window. 
There  she  comes  back,  her  face  full  of  roses 
and  laughter. 

Twenty  minutes  more,  and  she  is  a  student 
like  any  of  you,  with  spelling-book,  pen  or 
geography,  or  thumbing  the  piano  or  reading 
aloud  to  her  mother.  She  is  her  mother's  con- 
stant companion.  She  is  up  at  7  A.  M.,  and 
kneeling  at  her  mother's  knee,  says  her  morn- 
ing prayers. 

She  is  often  dressed  completely  in  white, 
even  to  gloves  and  stockings.  Watch  and  see 
what  she  will  be  in  coming  years. 

L. 


A    WONDERFUL    STONE. 

AMR.  MENINGER  of  New  Orleans,  while 
visiting  in  the    town  of    Chilpanzingo, 
Mex.,  saw  a  rock  there  which  he  —  and  others 
—  says    foretells    rain    twenty- four    hours    in 
advance ! 

In  fair  weather  it  is  grayish,  very  smooth 
and  cold,  but  when  it  is  going  to  rain  it  be- 
comes a  dingy  red  at  the  base,  pink  at  the  top, 
and  it  becomes  warmer  and  warmer  till  the  rain 
falls.  If  there  is  much  lightning,  the  stone  be- 
comes charged  (filled)  like  an  electrical  jar,  so 
that  you  cannot  safely  approach  it. 

After  the  rain  it  goes  back  to  its  first  state 
of  color  and  coldness. 

L. 


THE    FIRST    CHRISTMAS. 


THE   FIRST   CHRISTMAS. 

WHY  so  soon  with  flocks  returning? 
O,  dear  father,  tell  us  why : 
Scarce  the  night  lamps  ceased  their  burning, 

Scarce  the  stars  dimmed  in  the  sky 
When  we  heard  the  distant  bleating 

Of  the  flock  come  o'er  the  lea ; 
While  the  stars  were  still  retreating 

Thou  wert  coming  o'er  the  lea  ? 
Home  so  early  in  the  morning ! 

Sheep  and  lambs  so  fast  you're  leading 
To  the  fold  at  early  dawning, 

At  the  time  of  sweetest  feeding ! 

Ill,  dear  father,  art  thou  ?     Surely 

Suffering  art  thou  ?     Tell  us  true ! 
Has  some  lambie  been  unruly  — 

Wandered  far  away  from  view? 
Must  thou  go  across  the  mountain, 

Starting  in  the  morning  gray, 
Search  by  vale,  and  rock,  and  fountain 

For  the  lost  one,  gone  astray?  ^ 
But  thy  face  is  bright  and  beaming, 

And  thy  step  is  free  and  glad, 
And  thy  eyes  with  joy  are  gleaming 

Surely  nothing  makes  thee  sad ! 

Thus  she  chattered  to  her  father, 

Shepherd  of  Judean  plain ; 
Eager  for  some  reason  given 

Which  might  satisfy  her  brain ; 
>  But  the  father,  heart  o'erflowing 

With  the  story  he  could  tell, 
Felt  the  spirit  in  him  burning — 

Felt  his  soul  within  him  swell  - — 
And,  with  tender  touch,  down  bending 

Gently  drew  her  to  his  breast ; 
His  life-calling  sweetly  lending 

Skill  for  what  he  loved  the  best. 

Then  his  home  flock,  like  the  other, 

In  the  home  fold  where  they  dwelt  — 
Father,  children,  precious  mother  — 

All  before  Jehovah  knelt ; 
Knelt  to  thank  the  covenant-keeping  ~, 

God  of  Jacob,  who  alone 
In  their  waking  and  their  sleeping, 

Safely  shelters  all  his  own. 
This  —  and  then  began  the  stoiy 

Of  the  night  before  that  morn, 


When  the  angels  came  from  glory, 
Telling  that  the  Christ  was  born. 

(The  story.} 

On  the  hillside  near  our  flocks  were  sleeping, 
While  we,  reclining  by,  our  watch  were  keeping ; 
The  sun  had  set  in  a  glow  of  splendor, 
And  the  stars  looked  down  so  pure  and  tender 
That  we  felt  a  hush  pervading 
Every  breast ;   for  the  fading 
Of  the  day  had  been  so  slow, 
And  the  twilight's  gentle  glow 
Had  left  the  earth  so  still 
That  over  plain  and  hill 
A  gentle  sleep  seemed  holding  all 
As  quiet  as  beneath  a  pall 

Of  death.     When  every  heart 

Was  hushed,  and  sure  to  start 

At  slightest  move  or  sound, 

From  sky  or  earth  or  ground, 

We  would  not  break  with  song 

The  silence,  which  so  strong 

Had  reigned  supreme  the  while, 

But  sought  we  to  beguile 

With  word  of  prophecy  the  hour, 

Talking  of  Him  whose  conquering  power 

Our  fallen  Israel  should  restore, 

And  make  her  glory  as  of  yore. 

The  Lord  seemed  wondrous  near  us  then ; 
As  when  our  father  Jacob  dreamed,  or  when 
The  great  law-giver  stood  on  hallowed  ground 
And  heard  Jehovah  speak  in  words  profound ; 
When,  suddenly,  burst  on  the  ravished  ear 
A  voice  like  music,  or  like  trumpet  clear, 
And  words  most  wonderful  did  there  proclaim : 
Tidings,  glad  tidings  of  the  glorious  Name ! 
He  bade  us  haste  to  Bethlehem  away 
To  find  the  Babe  there  born  to  us  this  day ; 
And  then,  when  Paradise  I  see  complete, 
May  it  such  strains  to  these  glad  ears  repeat ! 
Then  a*  from  cloud  the  pealing  thunder  breaks 
Till  'neath  its  voice  the  very  mountain  shakes, 
So  burst  in  chorus  the  celestial  choir, 
Each  tongue  aflame  with  heaven's  own  altar  fire, 
To  celebrate,  as  by  Jehovah  sent, 
The  long  foretold  and  now  fulfilled  event  — 
Our  own  Messiah's  birth  in  Bethlehem  town ! 
The  Christ  of  God  from  heaven  to  earth  come 
down ! 


THE     SPOOL-COTTON     GIRL. 


The  singing  ceased,  and  all  was  still  again 
Save  the  sweet  echo  of  ' '  Good- will  to  men  "  ; 
The  choir  had  flown ;  our  flocks  were  all  at  rest, 
And  could  we,  after  such  a  vision  blest, 

Await  the  dawning  to  behold  the  Stranger 
Which  cradled  lay  in  Bethlehem's  lowly  manger  ? 
If  we  forgot  our  flocks,  in  haste  to  see  the  sight 
Revealed  to  us  by  angel  hosts  last  night, 
Was  it  so  strange,  when  honored  thus  were  we 
To  be  the  first  of  all  our  race  to  see, 
Worship  and  welcome  to  this  world  the  King 
Of  whom  the  Prophets  old  did  write  and  sing? 
And  so  we  hastened,  sped,  and  tarried  not 
Until  we  found,  O,  joy !  the  very  spot 
Where  lay  this  lily  from  sweet  Paradise, 
Angelic  beauty  there,  before  our  eyes ! 

We  bent,  we  worshiped,  kissed  the  Babe  so  fair, 

Then  hastened  back  through  all  the  perfumed  air 

To  find  our  flocks  by  angel  guards  attended, 

Better  by  them  than  by  our  skill  defended. 

Then  each  with  gladness  homeward  sped  away 

To  tell  the  tidings  of  this  wondrous  day. 

The  questions  asked  as  round  the  father's  knee 

The  children  pressed  in  eager  ecstasy, 

I  will  not  try  to  tell.     I  cease 

My  story  of  the  "  Prince  of  Peace," 

This  only  adding — though  the  talk  was  long — 

There  followed  it  this  burst  of  sacred  song : 

(The  song.) 

O,  thou  Infant  holy! 
In  thy  cradle  lowly, 
Feebfe  stranger  seeming, 
Though  almighty.     Deeming 
It  thy  pleasure, 
Even  in  this  measure, 
In  this  casket  fair 
Human  woe  to  share. 

We  thy  praises  sing; 

To  thy  cradle  bring 

Love,  and  thanks  and  treasure, 

Offerings  without  measure ; 

Just  now  come  from  glory, 

We  have  heard  thy  story 

Sung  by  angel  chorus, 

While  God's  light  shone  o'er  us. 

O,  thou  Baby  stranger! 

Hiding  in  a  manger, 

By  crowded  inn  rejected, 

By  pilgrims  all  neglected, 

For  thee  our  hearts  are  burning 

With  a  holy  yearning. 

Be  thou  our  guest; 

Our  arms  would  now  enfold  thee, 

Our  hearts  would  gladly  hold  thee ; 

We  love  thee  best. 

G.  R.  ALDEN. 


THE    SPOOL-COTTON    GIRL. 

PART    I. 

HE  stood  before  a  little  old- 
fashioned  twisted-legged  toilet 
stand  putting  the  finishing 
touches  to  her  hair,  looking, 
the  while,  into  a  queer  little 
old-fashioned  mirror  which  had 
been  in  the  family  ever  since  she  could  remem- 
ber. Almost  everything  had  been  in  their 
family  a  long  while.  Especially,  Marion  some- 
times thought,  her  dresses  had.  "They  do 
not  wear  overskirts  like  this  any  more,"  she 
had  said  to  her  mother  that  morning,  as  she 
was  looping  it. 

"They  do  not  wear  overskirts  at  all,"  said 
Renie,  the  younger  sister,  looking  up  from  her 
book.  Renie  always  knew  what  "they"  did. 

"I  know  it,"  answered  Marion,  from  whose 
face  the  slight  cloud  had  already  passed ;  ' '  but 
we  do,  because,  you  see,  it  hides  the  pieced 
part  of  our  dress,  and  the  faded  part,  and  vari- 
ous other  blemishes.  Why  should  not  there  be 
a  what  '  we '  do,  as  well  as  to  be  always  quoting 
what  'they'  are  about?" 

Her  mother  laughed  somewhat  faintly.  Ma- 
rion's quaint  bright  speeches  were  always  rest- 
ful to  her;  but  the  fact  was  undeniable  thai 
the  dear  girl's  clothes  were  old-fashioned  and 
much  worn,  and  the  way  to  secure,  or  at  least 
to  afford  new  ones,  was  hedged. 

You  would  not  have  called  her  pretty  had 
you  seen  her  as  she  stood  before  that  little  old- 
fashioned  mirror,  pushing  in  the  old-fashioned 
comb  into  her  knot  of  hair,  and  trying  to  make 
it  hold  the  hair  in  the  way  the  pretty  new  style 
fancy  pins  which  the  girls  wore  held  theirs  ;  but 
you  would  have  liked  her  face,  I  think ;  nearly 
every  one  did.  It  was  quiet  and  restful  look 
ing.  She  gave  very  little  time  to  the  hair,  for 
she  was  late.  There  was  so  much  to  be  done 
mornings  that  she  was  very  apt  to  be  late  —  I 
mean  hurried.  They  never  called  her  late  at 
the  store ;  she  was  always  in  her  place  before 
the  great  bell  ceased  ringing,  but  it  required 
much  bustling  about  and  some  running,  to  ac- 
complish this.  She  was  only  thirteen,  and  most 


THE     SPOOL-COTTON     GIRL. 


of  the  girls  iu  her  'class  in  Sunday-school  were 
students  at  the  High  School;  but  Marion  had 
been  for  more  than  a  year  earning  her  own  liv- 
ing. She  had  charge  of  the  spool-cotton  coun- 
ter in  one  of  the  large  stores. 

It  was  a  matter  of  some  pride  to  her  that  she 
was  a  small  saleswoman,  instead  of  a  cash  girl. 
She  had  commenced,  of  course,  in  that  way; 
but  one  happy  day  an  unexpected  vacancy  had 
occurred  at  the  spool  counter,  and  she  had  fitted 
in  so  well  that  she  had  been  kept  there,  although 
younger  than  most  of  the  other  salesgirls.  Her 
face  was  quieter  than  usual  this  morning.  Per- 
haps because  it  was  such  a  rainy  morning  that 
she  had  felt  compelled  to  wear  the  quite  old 
dress,  instead  of  the  somewhat  fresher  one 
which  had  lately  begun  to  come  to  the  store  on 
pleasant  days.  Marion  had  discovered  that  she 
needed  special  grace  to  help  her  through  the 
rainy  days  and  the  old-fashioned  gown. 

Not  very  many  people  were  abroad  shopping ; 
but  Marion  had  her  share  of  work,  for  those 
who  came  were  in  need  of  such  commonplace 
useful  things  as  spool  cotton,  or  tape,  or  needles. 
She  bent  carefully  over  a  drawer  full  of  various 
colors,  holding  a  tiny  brown  patch  in  her  hand 
the  while,  trying  to  match  the  shade.  "No," 
she  said,  shaking  her  head,  "that  is  not  quite 
a  match,  but  I  am  afraid  it  is  the  best  I  can  do. 
If  I  were  you  I  would  take  a  shade  darker  rather 
than  the  lighter ;  my  mother  always  does." 

The  middle-aged  woman,  in  a  plain  gossamer 
which  covered  her  from  head  to  foot,  glanced 
up  at  the  thoughtful  young  face  and  smiled. 

"Does  she?"  she  said.  "I  like  to  hear  a 
young  girl  quote  her  mother's  judgment ;  it  is 
apt  to  be  wise  judgment,  I  have  noticed,  as  I 
think  it  is  in  this  case.  Show  me  darker  shades, 
please." 

So  another  drawer  was  brought,  and  yet  an- 
other, and  the  young  head  bent  with  the  older 
one  over  them,  and  tried  and  tried  again,  and 
at  last  a  satisfactory  shade  was  found  and  the 
sale  was  made.  Five  cents'  worth  of  thread 
for  fifteen  minutes'  work  ! 

"  Why  in  the  world  did  you  putter  so  over 
that  old  maid  and  her  patch?  I  should  have 
told  her  I  couldn't  match  it  and  sent  her  about 
her  business  fifteen  minutes  ago." 


It  was  the  girl  whose  stand  was  next  to 
Marion  who  offered  this  bit  of  advice,  while 
the  ' '  old  maid "  in  question  was  but  a  few 
steps  away  from  them  looking  at  pin  balls. 

Marion  turned  a  warning  glance  in  her  direc- 
tion, and  lowered  her  voice  to  answer:  "Be- 
cause I  couldn't  find  a  match  sooner.  We  went 
over  all  the  thread  drawers  on  that  side,  but  I 
think  we  secured  the  exact  shade  at  last." 

' '  What  does  it  signify  ?  Nothing  but  brown 
cotton.  Wasn't  the  patch  part  cotton?  I 
thought  so.  The  idea  of  making  such  an  ado 
over  a  match  for  cheap  goods  like  that!  I 
wouldn't  fuss  with  such  customers,  I  can  tell 
you.  Five  cents'  worth  of  goods  and  fifty 
cents'  worth  of  bother.  You  couldn't  have  done 
more  for  her  if  she  had  been  your  sister." 

Marion  looked  after  the  plain  woman  thought- 
fully, then  looked  down  at  the  tiny  pin  she  wore. 
"I  am  not  sure  but  she  is.  Anyhow,  I  was 
bound  to  endeavor  to  please  her.  I'm  an  En- 
deavorer,  you  know."  She  gave  the  pin  a  sig- 
nificant touch  as  she  spoke.  It  was  very  small 
—  almost  too  small  to  attract  attention  —  but 
the  letters  "  C.  E."  were,  after  all,  quite  distinct. 

"O,  bother!"  said  her  neighbor,  speaking 
contemptuously,  ' '  so  am  I ;  at  least  so  far  as 
wearing  the  pin  is  concerned.  I  wear  it  because 
it  is  pretty,  and  I  have  so  few  ornaments  that  I 
have  to  make  the  most  of  them  ;  but  as  for  put- 
ting sentiment  into  spools  of  cotton  and  balls 
of  tape,  I  can't  do  it ;  the  things  don't  match." 

"They  ought  to,"  Marion  said  gravely.  "If 
you  and  I  don't  put  our  pledges  into  spools  of 
cotton  and  balls  of  tape  of  what  use  are  .they  ? 
Because  we  spend  our  days  in  just  such  work." 

"I  know  it,"  with  a  discontented  yawn ;  "I'm 
sick  and  tired  of  it.  It  is  a  slave  life ;  I'd  get 
out  of  it  if  I  could.  If  there  was  any  chance 
of  getting  promoted  it  would  be  a  little  differ- 
ent. Belle  Mason  has  been  transferred  to  the 
ribbon  counter,  and  she  gets  more  wages  and 
sees  other  sorts  of  people,  and  has  lots  of  fun ; 
she  hasn't  been  in  the  house  as  long  as  I  have, 
either ;  it  is  just  because  she  was  put  at  a  coun- 
ter where  she  had  a  chance  of  pleasing  people, 
and  here  we  have  just  to  poke  over  tape  and 
cotton  and  pins,  and  such  stuff.  I  think  it's 
mean !  "  PANSY. 


SAYING   HEK    EVENING    PKAYEK. 


HELEN'S     "APRIL     FOOL.' 


HELEN'S    "APRIL   FOOL." 

AMMA,  is  an  April  fool  differ- 
ent from  any  other  kind  of  a 
fool  ? "  cried  Helen  Palmer, 
rushing  into  the  sitting-room 
on  arriving  home  from  school. 
"Oh!  good-evening,  Mrs. 
Glenn,"  she  added,  as  she  noticed  a  lady  who 
sat  sewing  with  her  mother. 

"What  does  the  child  mean?"  exclaimed 
Mrs.  Glenn,  returning  Helen's  nod,  then  look- 
ing her  astonishment  at  Mrs.  Palmer,  who 
said  :  "  What  do  you  mean,  Helen?  " 

"Why,  the  girls  are  all  talking  to-day  about 
to-morrow  being  'April  Fool  Day,'  and  they 
said  a  lot  of  things  I  don't  understand,  about 
calling  people  'April  fool.'  They  all  agreed 
to  see  who  could  make  the  most  fools  and  tell 
about  it  Monday.  They  said  I  must  too,  and 
I  didn't  want  to  tell  them  I  did  not  know  how 
to  do  it,  or  what  it  means." 

"You  don't  mean  to  tell  me,  Helen  Palmer, 
that  you  don't  know  anything  about  April 
fool?"  cried  Mrs.  Glenn,  in  surprise. 

"No,"  said  Mrs.  Palmer;  "she  doesn't. 
This  is  her  first  year  at  school,  you  know;  I 
have  taught  her  at  home,  and  in  our  country 
home  she  heard  very  little  but  what  we  told 
her.  I  never  saw  any  sense  or  fun  in  the  cus- 
tom of  fooling  on  the  first  day  of  April,  and 
did  not  instruct  her  in  it  when  I  taught  her  of 
Thanksgiving,  Christmas,  New  Year,  St.  Val- 
entine's Day,  Washington's  Birthday,  Decora- 
tion Day  and  Fourth  of  July." 

"  But  what  is  it?  "  insisted  Helen. 

"Well,  my  dear,  it  is  a  custom  which  I've 
read  has  come  down  hundreds  of  years,  to  send 
people  on  ridiculous  errands  on  that  day  and 
call  it  an  April  fool.  It  is  done  all  over  Europe, 
and  the  Hindoos  of  India  do  exactly  the  same 
thing  on  the  thirty-first  of  March.  As  I've 
always  known  it,  people  not  only  send  others 
on  foolish  errands,  but  they  often  play  practical 
jokes,  silly  and  cruel,  and  actually  lie  to  each 
other  to  fool  them.  It  is  a  custom  much  better 
forgotten  than  kept." 

"I  should  think  so,"  cried  Helen. 

"But,  mamma,"  she  continued,  "what  shall 


I  do?  The  girls  expect  me  to  tell  my  share  on 
Monday." 

"We'll  see,  dear,  by  and  by.  Go  and  put 
away  your  things  now." 

Mrs.  Glenn  went  away  after  tea,  and  Helen 
began  at  once  to  coax  her  mother  to  tell  her 
how  to  come  up  to  the  girls'  plans  without  do- 
ing anything  silly  or  wicked. 

' '  I  think,  if  I  were  you,  I  would  spend  the 
day  surprising  people  .with  something  good. 
Do  things  to  help  or  please,  and  when  they 
show  their  surprise  say  '  April  fool ! ' ' 

"  O,  mamma!  that  will  be  delightful,"  cried 
Helen.  "  Tell  me  some  things  to  do." 

"No,  my  dear,  that  is  your  business." 

All  that  evening  Helen  was  very  thoughtful, 
and  next  day  she  was  unusually  busy.  At 
night  she  declared  she  had  never  been  so 
happy.  Monday  morning  she  met  the  girls, 
and  they  began  to  tell  their  jokes. 

"I  fooled  everybody  around  the  house,"  said 
Carrie  Andrews.  "I  filled  the  sugar-bowl  with 
salt,  and  papa  got  a  big  spoonful  in  his  coffee. 
You  ought  to  have  seen  the  face  he  made.  He 
didn't  more  than  half  like  it,  even  when  I  called 
out '  April  fool ! '  "I  sent  George  out  to  pick 
up  a  package  of  sand  I  had  dropped  near 
the  gate.  I  rang  the  doorbell  and  got  Ann 
to  go  to  the  door,  and  there  I  stood  and  said 
'April  fool.'  I  sent  a  letter  to  Louise,  and 
tied  mamma's  apron-strings  to- her  chair." 

Helen  listened  in  amazement,  as  one  girl 
after  another  told  of  such  silly  tricks. 

At  last  they  turned  to  her.  "Well,  Helen, 
what  did  you  do?  " 

' '  Oh !  I  fooled  every  one  in  the  family,  but 
I  did  a  lot  of  new  things,"  said  Helen. 

"What  were  they ? "  cried  the  gii'ls,  in  chorus. 

"Well,"  said  she,  in  a  low  voice,  "I  got  up 
real  early,  and  crept  softly  downstairs  and  set 
the  table  in  the  dining-room,  while  Jane  was 
starting  breakfast  in  the  kitchen.  She  'most 
always  has  it  set  at  night,  but  mamma  and  the 
sewing  woman  were  using  the  long  table  to  cut 
out  goods  when  Jane  went  to  bed.  She  was 
hurrying  as  fast  as  she  could,  and  rushed  in, 
and  when  she  saw  the  table  set  she  threw  up 
both  hands,  and  said  :  '  Well,  now,  however  did 
that  table  get  set  ?  Was  it  witches'  work  ? ' 


ABOUT     PHILADELPHIA. 


•'  Then  I  jumped  out  from  behind  the  door 
and  cried  :  '  April  fool ! ' 

"'So  it  is,'  she  said;  'an'  it's  a  fine  one 
you've  given  me ;  I'll  not  forget  it  of  you.' 

•'After  breakfast  mamma  was  just  going  to 
get  Baby  to  sleep,  and  some  one  came  to  see 
her  on  business.  She  asked  me  to  keep  him 
till  she  could  get  back.  I  took  him,  and  rocked 
and  sung  to  him,  and  he  went  to  sleep.  I  laid 
him  down  in  his  crib,  and  then  hid  to  see  what 
mamma  would  do.  I  heard  her  hurrying  up- 
stairs and  into  the  room.  Then  she  stopped 
and  stared.  I  stepped  up  softly  behind  her 
and  kissed  her,  and  said,  '  April  fool ! '  She 
thought  it  was  a  nice  one. 

' '  Uncle  Guy  came  in  and  asked  mamma  to 
mend  his  glove  when  she  had  time.  As  quick 
as  I  could  I  got  my  thimble  and  needle  and  silk 
and  mended  the  glove ;  and  when  he  came  in 
again  in  a  hurry  and  said  :  '  Well,  I  can't  wait 
now  for  it  to  be  mended,'  he  drew  it  on  and 
said,  'Why,  it  is  mended.'  Then  I  called  out, 
1  April  fool,  Uncle  Guy !  ' 

"  4  O,  you  little  rogue!'  he  said;  Til  pay 
you  up.' 

"  Well,  then  I  mended  Frank's  sails  to  his 
boat  when  he  started  to  do  it  and  papa  called 
him  away,  and"  — 

' '  What  did  you  do  for  your  father  ?  "  asked 
Marjie  Day. 

' '  Oh !  papa  said  he  must  hunt  up  some  papers 
in  the  library  at  lunch-time,  so  I  looked  them 
up  and  laid  them  on  his  plate,  and  when  he 
said  :  *  Why,  how  did  these  get  here  ? '  I  said  : 
'  April  fool ! '  And  that's  all,"  added  Helen, 
with  glowing  cheeks  and  sparkling  eyes. 

"  Well !"  exclaimed  Carrie  Andrews,  "if 
that  don't  beat  the  Dutch." 

"Wasn't  it  a  good  way?"  asked  Helen, 
almost  crying. 

"Of  course,  you  little  goose!  but  who  else 
would  ever  have  thought  of  it  ?  " 

"Mamma  said  she  didn't  like  silly  jokes,  and 
said  I  had  better  try  surprising  people  with 
pleasant  things.  I  like  it  so  well  I  am  going 
to  do  it  every  day  in  the  year." 

"There's  the  bell,"  cried  BeUe  Adams ;  "but 
hadn't  we  all  better  try  it?  " 

F.  A.  REYNOLDS. 


ABOUT   PHILADELPHIA. 

BY    THE    PANSIES. 

TS  first  name  was  Coaquenaque. 
I  am  glad  they  changed  it  to 
Philadelphia,  because  it  is 
easier  to  pronounce ;  but  I 
like  Indian  names.  I  went 
to  Philadelphia  once  with  my 
uncle.  I  think  Broad  Street  is  one  of  the  nicest 
places  in  the  world.  I  went  to  Germautown  to 
see  where  Charlie  Ross  used  to  live,  but  I  was 
so  small  I  don't  remember  very  much  about 
anything,  only  Broad  Street.  I'm  going  again 
next  year,  and  I'll  look  around  and  write  you 
what  I  see.  JOHN  T.  ROBINSON. 


I  WENT  with  father  to  Philadelphia  three  years 
ago ;  we  staid  near  Washington  Square ;  it  is 
beautiful  there.  The  trees  are  just  splendid. 
Father  told  me  it  used  to  be  a  great  burying- 
ground.  I  could  not  make  it  seem  possible.  A 
great  many  unknown  soldiers,  father  said,  were 
buried  there ;  it  was  in  Revolutionary  times. 
How  sad  it  must  have  been  to  live  then  !  I  like 
the  little  parks  in  Philadelphia  that  they  call 
"squares."  I  saw  the  place  where  they  held 
the  Sanitary  Fair,  when  they  roofed  over  the 
entire  square,  and  let  the  trees  stand  as  pillars. 
LAURA  CREEDMORE. 


ONE  of  the  most  interesting  places  I  visited 
in  Philadelphia  was  Mr.  Wanamaker's  store. 
I  did  not  know  a  store  could  be  so  large.  It 
takes  a  hundred  miles  of  steam  pipes  to  heat  it. 

My  uncle  has  a  fruit  farm  of  ten  acres,  and  I 
used  to  think  when  I  walked  around  it  that  ten 
acres  was  pretty  big ;  but  there  are  over  four- 
teen acres  of  floor  to  walk  around  in  Mr.  Wana- 
maker's store !  The  different  departments  are 
fixed  up  beautifully.  They  have  lovely  parlors 
and  dining-rooms  and  bedrooms  all  rigged  up 
with  beautiful  furniture,  to  show  people  how  to 
furnish  their  rooms,  and  every  few  days  they 
change  and  give  you  another  style.  But  the 
most  interesting  part  of  the  store,  to  me,  was 
the  way  the  money  is  sent  to  the  cashiers. 
There  are  eighty-one  pay-stations  in  the  store ; 


ABOUT     PHILADELPHIA. 


then  there  is  a  central  cash  desk  where  twenty- 
five  cashiers  are  busy  all  day  long  receiving  the 
money  that  is  brought  to  them  through  the 
tubes.  The  clerk  at  a  pay-station  takes  the 
money  you  give  him,  and  starts  it  in  one  of 
the  pneumatic  tubes,  and  away  it  shoots  to  the 
central  desk  on  the  second  floor ;  a  cashier  there 
looks  at  it,  sees  what  change  is  needed,  and 
shoots  it  back.  I  don't  understand  it  very  well, 


FRANKLIN    STATUE. 

but  I  mean  to.  I  am  going  to  study  the  prin- 
ciples of  pneumatic  tubing,  and  Chris  and  I  are 
going  to  have  one  to  reach  from  my  window  to 
his.  We  are  only  about  fifty  feet  apart.  In 
Wanamaker's  they  have  seven  miles  of  tubing 
to  carry  their  money  around.  We  took  dinner 
at  the  Wanamaker  Dairy,  right  in  the  store ;  it 


was  jam  full,  and  it  will  seat  eight  hundred 
people  at  once.  Chris  and  I  are  going  into 
partnership  when  we  get  to  be  men,  and  are 
going  to  have  a  store  just  exactly  like  it. 

HENRY  W.  GILMORE. 


I  WENT  to  Philadelphia  last  winter  and  at- 
tended Mr.  Conwell's  church  on  Broad  Street. 
It  is  very  big  —  the  biggest  in  the  world,  I  guess 
—  or  maybe  I  mean  in  this  country.  It  will 
hold  thousands  of  people.  Mother  says  she 
thinks  Dr.  Talmage's  church  is  bigger,  but  I 
don't  see  how  it  could  be.  The  people  can't  all 
get  in ;  they  have  to  have  tickets  and  be  let  in 
by  a  door-keeper.  The  singing  sounds  just 
grand.  There  is  a  very  large  choir,  and  the 
organ  rolls  and  rolls.  I  liked  Mr.  Conwell 
almost  better  than  any  minister  I  ever  heard, 
except  my  own,  of  course.  Then  I  went  to 
Sunday-school ;  hundreds  and  hundreds  and 
hundreds  of  children !  I  never  saw  so  many 
together  before.  Of  course  I  saw  other  things 
in  Philadelphia,  but  what  I  liked  the  best  was 
that  church.  It  seemed  so  funny  to  see  folks 
crowding  into  church  on  Sunday  morning,  and 
to  have  a  big  overflow  meeting  for  those  who 
couldn't  get  in.  Where  I  live  they  have  to 
coax  the  people  to  come  to  church,  and  there's 
lots  of  room  always.  FANNY  PIERCE. 


ONCE  I  went  to  "Old  Swede's"  Church  in 
Philadelphia.  It  is  very  old.  There  used  to 
be  a  log  church  on  the  place  where  it  stands ; 
sometimes  it  was  used  for  a  fort.  That  was 
in  1677,  but  about  three  years  afterwards  the 
brick  church  was  built,  and  that  is  the  one  I 
went  to.  In  the  churchyard  are  many  very  old 
graves,  and  some  new  ones.  Some  of  the 
names  on  the  grave-stones  are  so  old  I  could 
not  make  them  out.  It  seemed  very  strange  to 
be  in  a  church  which  was  built  almost  two  hun- 
dred years  ago.  Then  we  went  to  the  queer 
little  old  house  on  Letitia  Street  where  William 
Penu  used  to  live.  Great  big  buildings  have 
grown  up  around  it,  and  they  make  it  look  very 
odd.  Then  we  went  to  the  old  London  Coffee 
House  ;  I  had  studied  about  that  in  my  history, 
and  I  was  disgusted  to  find  it  turned  into  a  cigar 
store.  It  is  a  very  queer  old  building.  I  saw 


VIEW  OF  INDEPENDENCE  HALL,  PHILADELPHIA.     (See  "  About  Philadelphia.") 


THE     SPOOL-COTTON     GI11L. 


the  house  where  the  first  American   flag  was 
made ;  that  is  on  Arch  Street. 

HELEN  STUART  CAMPBELL. 


MY  sister  Helen  has  written  all  about  old 
places  and  never  mentioned  Carpenter's  Hall ! 
She  says  that  is  because  she  knew  I  would.  I 
went  there  with  father  and  Helen.  I  think  it 
is  one  of  the  grandest  places  in  Philadelphia. 
It  is  the  "Cradle  of  American  Independence." 
That  was  where  the  first  prayer  in  Congress 
was  made  the  morning  after  Boston  was  bom- 
barded. Before  that  some  of  the  people  had 
objected  to  having  Congress  opened  with 
prayer,  but  after  that  morning  nobody  ever 
objected  again.  The  inscription  on  the  wall 
says  it  was  here  that  "Henry,  Hancock  and 
Adams  inspired  the  Delegates  of  the  Colonies 
with  Nerve  and  Sinew  for  the  toils  of  war." 

Then  of  course  we  went  to  Independence 
Hall,  where  the  second  Continental  Congress 
gathered,  and  saw  the  old  cracked  bell  which 
rung  on  the  first  Fourth  of  July.  Helen  says 
there  was  a  Fourth  of  July  'every  year  before 
that  time  ;  but  I  mean  the  first  one  which  was 
worth  having.  ROBERT  STUART  CAMPBELL. 


I  THINK  the  prettiest  place  in  all  Philadelphia 
is  Fairmount  Park.  If  I  lived  there  I  should 
want  to  stay  in  the  park  all  summer.  The 
drive  out  is  just  as  lovely  as  it  can  be.  We 
crossed  the  Girard  Avenue  bridge,  which  is  a 
thousand  feet  long.  You  can  walk  or  ride 
across,  just  as  you  please.  There  is  a  side- 
walk on  each  side  of  the  carriage  drive  sixteen 
feet  wide,  and  beautifully  paved.  The  railing 
around  this  bridge  is  trimmed  with  flowers, 
vines  and  birds,  made  in  bronze.  We  saw  the 
old  house  which  was  built  by  William  Penn's 
son.  And  we  went  to  the  Zoological  Gardens 
and  saw  the  bear-pits  and  everything;  then 
there  is  a  part  called  the  "Children's  Play- 
ground," which  is  lovely.  JAMES  HURST. 

[The  above  are  some  of  the  gleanings  from  the  many  letters 
received.  Wish  we  had  room  for  more.  We  are  greatly 
pleased  with  your  efforts  to  help  on  this  department  of  THE 
PANSY.  The  main  difficulty  is,  that  many  letters  come  too 
late  to  be  of  use.  Notice  the  list  of  cities  published  in  the 
December  PANSY,  and  make  a  start  three  months  ahead,  then 
you  will  be  sure  to  be  on  time.  —  EDITORS.] 


THE   SPOOL-COTTON   GIRL. 

PART    II. 

HAT  did  you  say  ?  "     This  last 
sentence   was    addressed   to   a 
customer  who  had  been  stand- 
ing for  some  seconds.    "Green 
braid?     No,  we  haven't  any  to 
match  that." 
"Are  you  sure?"  questioned  the  young  girl 
anxiously.     "  Haven't  you  a  little  darker,  then? 
that  will  do." 

"No,  we  haven't !  "  sharp-voiced  and  spiteful. 
"Saucy  thing  !  "  she  added,  as  the  girl  turned 


THE   LIBERTY   BELL. 


away ;  "I  told  her  I  hadn't ;  what  business  had 
she  to  ask  again?  " 

"0,  Nellie!  I  don't  think  you  are  sure.  I 
think  I  found  some  in  your  upper  row  of  boxes 
yesterday  which  would  answer  for  the  sample." 

' '  Nonsense !  as  if  you  could  tell  without 
looking.  I  know  I  haven't ;  I  tumbled  the 
whole  lot  over  yesterday  for  a  fussy  woman, 
and  I  remember  every  shade  in  it.  It  is  of  no 
consequence,  anyhow ;  a  seven-cent  braid ! 

"  O,  Jean !  look  here  ;  let  me  see  your  pho- 
tographs. Are  they  good?" 

She  had  darted  away  to  the  counter  below. 

Marion  stood  for  a  moment  irresolute,  then 


THE     SPOOL-COTTON     GIRL. 


moved  toward  the  girl.  "  Let  me  see  it,  please  ; 
I  think  I  can  match  it." 

The  woman  to  whom  she  had  sold  a  spool  of 
thread  turned  at  the  sound  of  her  voice  and 
smiled  on  the  girl.  "Give  it  to  her,  Jennie, 
she  will  match  it;  she  knows  how,"  she  said. 
Marion  answered  the  smile  ;  her  heart  was  warm 
over  the  simple  words  of  commendation.  She 
sought  among  the  upper  row  of  boxes  for  the 
one  which  her  memory  associated  with  yester- 
day's shades,  and  found  it.  The  girl  made  her 
seven-cent  purchase  and  went  away  pleased, 
just  as  Nellie  came  back  from  her  photographs. 

"Such  a  stupid  day!"  she  yawned  toward 
its  close.  "Not  a  person  of  importance  has 
even  passed  our  counter.  I've  sold  about  a 
dollar's  worth  of  goods  to-day.  How  much 
have  you  done  ?  " 

"Hardly  that,"  said  Marion,  smiling.  "It 
has  all  been  spools  of  cotton  and  darning 
needles.  It  has  rained,  you  know,  all  day." 

The  next  morning's  sun  shone  brightly,  and 
the  large  store  was  thronged  early  in  the  day 
with  shoppers.  Both  Marion  and  Nellie  were 
busy,  the  latter  not  much  pleasanter  than  she 
had  been  the  day  before ;  it  all  seemed  such 
trivial  work  to  her. 

' '  Are  you  sure  you  are  not  mistaken  in  the 
name  ?  "  one  of  the  chiefs  was  saying,  in  a  per- 
plexed tone,  to  a  lady  who  stood  near  Marion's 
counter.  "We  have  but  one  clerk  of  that 
name,  and  she  is  the  youngest  in  the  store." 

' '  This  one  is  quite  young,  and  she  sells  spool 
cotton,"  said  the  lady,  catching  Marion's  eye 
and  smiling  a  recognition.  She  had  laid  aside 
the  long  gossamer,  and  was  carefully  dressed. 
*'  I  have  a  fancy  to  be  waited  on  by  her." 

"Marion,"  said  the  chief,  turning  to  her, 
"this  lady  wants  to  look  at  the  light  trimming 
silks  ;  do  you  know  anything  about  them  ?  " 

"Yes,  sir,"  said  Marion  promptly;  "I  know 
the  shades  and  prices." 

"I  thought  so,"  the  lady  said,  and  Marion 
moved  down  the  archway  at  her  side. 

"I  have  a  fancy  that  you  can  match  silks," 
the  lady  said;  "at  least  I  think  you  will  pa- 
tiently try.  A  girl  who  could  do  her  best  on  a 
rainy  day  for  a  spool  of  cotton,  can  be  depended 
upon  for  silk,  I  believe-" 


From  the  silk  department  they  went  to  the 
glove  counter,  and  from  there  to  the  millinery, 
in  each  of  which  departments  the  young  girl 
with  wide-open  eyes  and  deft  fingers  and  care- 
ful taste  gave  satisfaction.  "  You  ought  to  be 
in  this  room,"  said  the  head  milliner,  smiling 
on  her  as  she  saw  her  select  the  right  shade  of 
velvet.  '. '  Where  do  you  belong  ?  "  She  laughed 
when  told,  and  said  that  the  spool-cotton  de- 
partment was  fortunate. 

"That  Marion  Wilkes/'  said  the  chief  on 
Saturday  evening,  "what  about  her?"  The 
clerk  told  briefly  what  he  knew  about  her. 

"Promote  her,"  said  the  chief  briefly.  "Keep 
watch  of  her ;  if  she  succeeds  in  other  depart- 
ments as  well,  keep  pushing  her.  She  has-been 
worth  several  hundred  dollars  to  us  this  week. 
Miss  Lamsoii  told  me  she  had  expected  to  buy 
her  niece's  outfit  over  at  Breck's,  but  was  at- 
tracted here  by  that  little  girl  selling  her  a  spool 
of  cotton  on  a  rainy  day.  And  Jennie  Packard 
brought  her  mother  here  for  the  winter  supplies 
for  their  family,  because  that  girl  matched  a 
dress  braid ;  in  fact,  I  have  heard  half  a  dozen 
stories  of  the  kind  about  her.  She  is  valuable ; 
we  cannot  spare  her  for  spool  cotton." 

It  was  four  years  ago  that  this  true  story 
happened.  Last  Saturday,  as  I  stood  near  the 
spool  counter  in  the  fashionable  store,  I  heard 
a  voice  ask  :  ' '  And  what  has  become  of  Marion 
Wilkes?  She  used  to  be  here  next  to  you, 
didn't  she,  Nellie?" 

"Why,  yes,  she  was  the  spool-cotton  girl; 
but  she  didn't  stay  here  long ;  she  got  to  be  a 
favorite  with  the  proprietors  somehow.  I  never 
understood  it.  She  was  a  sly  little  thing ;  they 
promoted  her  all  the  while ;  you  never  saw  any- 
thing like  it.  She  gets  the  largest  salary  of 
any  saleswoman  in  the  store  now,  and  I  heard 
last  week  that  they  were  going  to  put  her  at 
the  head  of  the  art  department.  That's  just 
the  way  with  some  people,  always  in  luck. 
Here  I  have  been  at  this  tape  and  braid  counter 
for  years,  and  expect  to  be  until  my  eyes  are 
too  dim  to  pick  out  the  stupid  things.  I  told 
you  I  had  no  tape  of  that  width ;  what  is  the 
use  in  asking  again  ?  "  This  last  sentence  was 
addressed  to  a  little  girl  who  was  waiting  to  be 
served.  PANSY. 


THE     SPOILED     FACE. 


THE  SPOILED  FACE. 


(Character  Studies.) 


SN'T  be  lovely?"  asked  Miss 
Henderson,  as  we  three  stood 
in  front  of  Charlie's  portrait, 
which  had  just  come  from  the 
artist's  hand.  "He  has  such 
great  expressive  eyes,  so  soft, 
and  yet  so  full  of  intelligence.  The  artist  has 
caught  the  very  expression.  I  think  I  never 
saw  a  more  beautiful  boy." 

"I  think  I  never  saw  a  greater  nuisance," 
said  Miss  Maylie,  speaking  with  a  good  deal  of 
energy  and  with  a  slight  frown  on  her  face,  as 
thougli  some  unpleasant  memory  was  stirred  by 
the  sight  of  the  lovely  face  in  the  frame.  We 
both  turned  and  looked  at  her  in  surprise. 

"Nuisance!"  repeated  Miss  Henderson. 
' '  Why,  what  can  you  mean  ?  I  have  heard 
that  his  character  is  as  lovely  as  his  face.  He 
is  one  of  the  most  generous  little  fellows,  always 
dividing  his  goodies  with  the  children." 

"Oh!  I  don't  doubt  it,"  said  Miss  Maylie; 
"but  there  are  other  traits  in  children  to  be 
sought  after  besides  that  of  dividing  their 
goodies."  Then  she  laughed,  as  if  half- 
ashamed  of  the  warmth  of  her  manner,  and 
said  :  "  I've  been  a  recent  victim  to  one  of  his 
habits,  and  feel  somewhat  deeply,  perhaps.  I 
had  an  important  engagement  with  his  mother 
yesterday  —  a  business  matter  for  which  I  had 
asked  an  interview  —  and  told  her  I  was  pressed 
for  time,  and  had  but  a  half-hour.  I  suppose 
we  had  been  together  about  two  minutes  when 
the  door  opened  without  the  ceremony  of  a 
knock,  and  Charlie  appeared  to  ask  if  he  might 
go  over  to  Uncle  Harry's.  He  was  told  that  he 
could  not,  it  looked  too  much  like  rain ;  and 
he  argued  the  matter,  assuring  his  mother  that 
the  wind  had  changed  and  was  blowing  from  the 
west ;  that  the  cook  said  it  was  not  going  to  rain 
any  more ;  that  he  would  put  on  his  rubbers  and 
bundle  up,  and  I  don't  know  what  else.  He  was 
listened  to  patiently  by  his  mother,  and  impa- 
tiently by  me,  for  my  precious  half-hour  was 
slipping  away.  He  shut  the  door  at  last  with 
a  frown  on  his  face  which,  if  it  had  been 


painted,  would  have  made  this  picture  much 
less  beautiful,  but  I  am  afraid  more  natural. 

' '  It  was  certainly  not  five  minutes  before  he 
was  back,  and  this  time  it  was,  '  Mamma,  may 
I  call  Jerry  to  bring  in  the  kittens  ? ' 

"  '  O,  no,  dear!  not  this  afternoon;  you  are 
dressed  for  dinner,  you  know.' 

"  '  That  won't  make  any  difference  ;  I  won't 
soil  my  clothes.  The  kittens  haven't  been  out 
in  the  mud.  Do,  mamma,  let  me.' 

"  'No,  Charlie;  I  do  not  want  them  in  the 
parlor,  you  know.' 

' '  '  Then  I'll  go  to  the  kitchen  and  play  with 
them;  Jane  won't  care.' 

"'Yes,  Jane  cares  very* much;  the  kittens 
annoy  her.  Charlie  will  have  to  get  along 
without  them  this  afternoon.' 

' '  Another  slam  to  the  door,  with  the  scowl 
deepened.  But  we  were  by  no  means  to  be  left 
in  peace.  I  was  just  in  the  midst  of  the  most 
intricate  part  of  my  business  explanation,  when 
Charlie  arrived  again.  Now  he  was  hungry ; 
could  not  wait  another  minute,  and  wanted 
some  bread  and  butter  and  syrup,  and  a  piece 
of  cake  and  a  glass  of  milk.  It  was  carefully 
explained  to  him  that  dinner  would  be  served 
within  the  hour,  and  that  syrup  was  not  good 
for  him,  the  doctor  said  —  to  which  he  replied 
that  he  did  not  care  what  the  old  doctor  said  — 
and  that  cake  would  be  given  him  at  the  table 
when  it  was  passed  to  the  others.  To  each  of 
these  explanations  he  returned  an  answer  which 
had  to  be  answered,  and  when  all  was  settled, 
he  began  over  again  to  coax  for  something  to 
eat !  The  fourth  time  he  came  he  wanted  the  gas 
lighted  in  the  library,  and  the  fifth  he  wanted  a 
certain  great  book  which  he  could  not  lift  placed 
conveniently  for  him  to  look  at  the  pictures. 
When  at  last  even  his  mother  felt  the  strain  on 
her  patience  and  told  him  he  must  run  away  and 
not  interrupt  her  again,  he  burst  into  a  loud 
howl,  and  slammed  the  door  after  him  so  that 
my  nerves  all  shivered  at  the  jar. 

"  I  must  say  it  would  be  difficult  for  me  to 
admire  his  face  to-day ;  my  annoyances  are  too 
recent.  Seven  times  during  a  single  half-hour 
to  be  interrupted  by  a  little  boy,  when  you  are 
trying  to  transact  important  business  with  his 
mother,  has  spoiled  his  face  for  me.  If  he  had 


THE     SPOILED     FACE. 


wanted  one  single  thing  which  it  was  important 
to  have  at  that  moment,  it  would  have  made  a 
difference." 

"They  all  seemed  important  to  him,  I  sup- 
pose," said  gentle  Miss  Henderson,  who  always 
tried  to  apologize  for  everybody. 


"Yes,  they  did,"  said  Miss  May  lie  ;  "that  is 
just  the  trouble ;  he  evidently  considered  him- 
self a  very  important  person,  and  thought  that 
his  mother  should  leave  her  business  and  her 
caller  and  attend  to  him.  I  should  call  him  a 
spoiled  child."  MYRA  SPAFFORD. 


CHARLIE'S  PORTRAIT. 


MY     LITTLE     MAID.— SACRED     ANIMALS. 


MY    LITTLE    MAID. 

is  my  little  maid,  Eva  ,  though 

I      that  is  not  her  Chinese  name.     She  will 
be  a  woman  one  of  these  bright  days,  and  who 
knows  but  she  may  become  a  real  princess  or 
empress  of  great  China? 
"What  of  that?" 

Much  every  way,  if  she  now  loves  the  Lord 
Jesus,  and  grows  up  a  noble  Christian  woman. 
Can't  you  see  how  she  could  help  the  Gospel 


SACRED   ANIMALS. 


among  her  people  if  she  had  the  great  power 
of  an  empress  ?  I  hope  you  remember  how  the 
good  Queen  of  Madagascar  led  her  nation  to 
give  up  idolatry  and  choose  the  Bible.  And 
now  they  are  doing  things  so  cruel  to  their 
neighbors  who  have  become  Christians  we  wish 
our  little  Eva  were  the  grand  good  empress  to 
stop  these  wicked  Chinese  doings.  L. 


OME  nations  think  certain  ani- 
mals sacred ;  that  is.  they  are 
so  much  better  than  other  ani- 
mals that  they  must  not  be 
harmed ;  of  course  they  must 
not  be  killed.  If  they  can  they 
treat  them  almost  as  if  they  were  human  beings, 
dressing  them  up  nicely,  even  richly.  Just 
think  of  one  of  our  bull-dogs  dressed  and  fed 
and  housed  almost  as  well  as  a  king ! 

"Why  do  certain  tribes  of  Africa  almost 
worship  the  Lion  of  Lhiamba  ?  " 

Perhaps  because  he  is  so  strong  and  wise  and 
terrible.  He  seems  like  a  very  god  to  them, 
they  fear  him  so. 

"Now  maybe,"  they  say  to  themselves,  "if 
we  respect  this  great,  fierce  beast,  never  lifting 
a  hand  to  harm  him,  maybe  he  will  not  harm 
us." 

' '  Does  he  ever  harm  them  ?  " 

Always,  if  they  cross  his  path  when  he  is 
hungry. 

"  Are  there  any  other  sacred  animals?  " 

Yes ;  the  bull,  the  white  elephant,  the  mon- 
key, even  the  serpent,  and  how  many  more  it 
is  hard  to  say. 

Maybe  you  can  guess  which  is  sacred  to  the 
Egyptians,  Chinese,  etc. 

We  should  not  needlessly  harm  any  animal. 
Shooting  birds  for  mere  fun  is  wrong.  Ani- 
mals have  a  hard  time  in  this  world.  Let  us 
not  make  it  harder.  But  we  must  worship  God 
only. 

They  are  mere  creatures,  passing  away  after 
a  short  stay  here  ;  God  lives  forever.  ' '  Thou 
shalt  have  no  other  gods  before  me." 

L. 


THINK  well  over  your  important  steps  in  life ; 
having  made  up  your  mind  never  look  behind. 


EACH  one  of  us  is  bound  to  make  the  little 
circle  in  which  he  lives  better  and  happier ;  each 
of  us  is  bound  to  see  that  out  of  that  small  cir- 
cle the  widest  good  may  flow ;  each  of  us  may 
have  fixed  in  his  mind  the  thought  that  out  of 
a  single  household  may  flow  influences  that  shall 
stimulate  the  whole  commonwealth  and  the  whole 
civilized  world.  — Selected. 


THE    LION    OF    LHIAMBA. 


SADIE'S     "HEATHEN." 


SADIE'S    "HEATHEN." 

OBODY  knew  or  even  dreamed 
how  large  a  thought  was  puz- 
zling the  brains  of  little  Sadie 
Wilmot.  It  had  begun  at 
family  worship  that  morning. 
Or  no;  perhaps  it  began  back 
of -that,  at  the  meeting  of  "  Cheerful  Givers," 
on  Thursday.  Mr.  Wilmot  said  it  was  an  ab- 
surd idea  for  such  little  dots  as  Sadie  to  be 
going  to  missionary  meeting,  but  grandmamma 
quoted  to  him :  "As  the  twig  is  bent,  the  tree 
is  inclined,"  and  herself  dressed  Sadie  for  the 
gathering.  Then  Miss  Harlowe,  the  leader, 
had  told  a  story  about  a  little  heathen  boy  who 
prayed  to  an  ugly  little  wooden  image,  with  a 
hideous  face ;  she  showed  a  model  of  the  little 
heathen's  god,  and  Sadie  was  shocked  and  dis- 
tressed. She  thought  about  the  heathen  a  good 
deal  that  day.  Now,  this  Saturday  morning 
grandfather,  at  family  worship,  had  read  a 
Psalm.  Sadie  had  not  been  listening  very 
closely ;  in  fact,  it  was  hard  for  her  to  listen  to 
Bible  reading,  some  way,  unless  it  had  a  story 
in  it.  This  was  not  in  the  least  like  a  story, 
and  Sadie's  thoughts  were,  if  the  truth  must  be 
told,  upon  her  dollie's  new  hat  and  how  she 
should  make  it,  when  she  heard  these  words : 
"Ask  of  me,  and  I  will  give  thee  the  heathen 
for  thine  inheritance."  It  was  that  word 
"heathen"  which  caught  her  ear.  Who  was 
talking?  To  whom  were  the  heathen  to  be 
given?  Had  some  naughty  king  given  them 
away  to  a  bad  man,  and  was  that  why  they 
prayed  to  ugly  wooden  dollies?  Sadie's 
thoughts  were  in  a  turmoil;  she  could  hardly 
wait  until  the  prayer  was  over,  before  she  was 
at  grandpapa's  knee  questioning. 

"Why,  child,"  said  grandpapa,  with  a  puz- 
zled air,  for  he  was  not  used  to  explaining  the 
Bible  to  little  people,  "it  means  what  it  says; 
the  heathen  are  to  be  given  to  Jesus." 

"  Given  to  Jesus ! "  said  Sadie,  amazed, 
4 '  then  why  do  they  pray  to  ugly  wooden 
dollies?" 

"Because  He  hasn't  got  them  yet ;  they  don't 
know  they  belong  to  him." 

"  Why  doesn't  somebody  tell  them?  " 


.  "They  do.  People  are  at  work  telling  them. 
Did  you  never  hear  about  the  missionaries, 
child?  I  thought  you  belonged  to  a  Mission 
Band?" 

Of  course  she  did,  and  had  heard  about  mis- 
sionaries, and  assured  her  grandfather  that  she 
gave  five  cents  a  month  to  support  them.  He 
did  not  say  that  that  was  a  larger  sum  than  he 
gave  regularly  for  the  same  purpose ;  for  some 
reason  he  did  not  care  to  do  so ;  he  only  said  : 

"Very  well,  then,  you  understand  all  about 
it.  The  Bible  says  the  heathen  will  be  given 
to  Jesus,  and  the  missionaries  have  gone  over 
there  to  tell  them  about  it,  and  show  them  how 
to  serve  the  Lord." 

"Has  every  single  one  of  them  heard  it?" 
questioned  Sadie,  in  great  earnestness. 

"Well,  no,"  said  grandfather;  "I  believe 
they  haven't  yet." 

"  Why  don't  they  do  it  faster?  Why  don't 
lots  more  missionaries  go,  and  take  Bibles,  and 
hurry?  Because  maybe  some  of  them  will  die 
before  they  hear  it." 

Sadie  was  in  intense  earnest,  but  her  father 
laughed,  and  said:  "That's  the  question, 
father.  Puts  some  of  you  Christians  in  a 
tight  place,  doesn't  it?" 

Sadie  could  not  imagine  what  he  meant ;  her 
grandfather  sat  at  ease  in  his  big  leather-cov- 
ered chair,  and  was  not  in  a  tight  place  at  all. 
But  she  was  disappointed  at  his  telling  her  to 
run  away  and  not  ask  any  more  questions  for 
five  minutes.  If  she  only  had  a  mamma,  Sadie 
thought,  she  would  ask  her  all  the  questions  she 
pleased,  for  her  friend  Trudie  Brown  said  that 
mammas  never  got  tired  of  answering.  But 
Sadie's  mamma  went  to  heaven  when  she  was 
a  wee  baby. 

She  went  away  to  think  it  over,  as  she  had 
to  do  with  so  many  of  her  puzzles,  only  to 
have  it  added  to  presently  by  words  from  her 
grandmother. 

"  I  declare  !  "  said  that  good  woman,  coming 
in  from  the  back  yard,  where  she  had  been  talk- 
ing to  Tony,  the  errand-boy,  "that  boy  is  a 
perfect  heathen." 

Sadie  nearly  dropped  her  dollie  with  a  china 
head  on  the  floor,  in  her  dismay.  "Is  he 
truly,  Grandma  ?  "  she  asked. 


SADIE'S     "HEATHEN." 


"Yes,  he  is,"  said  grandmamma,  with  em- 
phasis; "I  don't  believe  there  is  a  greater 
heathen  in  the  depths  of  Africa  than  Tony.  I 
have  been  trying  to  explain  the  simplest  matter 
to  him,  and  he  does  not  understand  me  as  well 
as  a  child  of  three  ought  to." 

"How  should  he?"  asked  grandfather,  to 
whom  this  sentence  was  chiefly  addressed  ;  "he 
has  never  had  any  chance  to  learn.  The  whole 
settlement  over  there  where  he  came  from  live 
like  heathen,  and  know  no  better." 

Then  came  one  of  Sadie's  startling  questions  : 
"  Grandfather,  is  he  one  of  those  who  were 
given  to  Jesus  ?  " 

"What?"  asked   grandfather,  in   astonish- 


THI>'KING   IT   OVER. 

ment.  He  had  already  forgotten  the  morning's 
questions. 

"  Why,  isn't  he  one  that  you  read  about,  out 
of  the  Bible,  that  was  given  to  Jesus?  " 

"Oh!"  said  grandfather,  "I  suppose  so; 
why,  yes,  child,  certainly.  Jesus  came  to  save 
him,  as  well  as  other  heathen." 

' '  Does  he  know  it  ?  " 

"What  a  child  you  are !  "  said  grandmother; 
but  as  this  was  no  answer  Sadie  waited,  look- 
ing at  her  grandfather. 


"I  doubt  if  he  does,"  he  said  at  last,  "or 
would  understand  if  he  was  told." 

"Why,  then  he  ought  to  be  told  over  and 
over,  ever  so  many  times,  as  you  said  you  had 
to  do  with  Bruce  before  he  understood  that  he 
was  to  stand  ou  his  hind  feet  and  ask  for  a 
bone,  oughtn't  he?" 

Both  grandfather  and  grandmother  began  to 
laugh,  though  Sadie  had  no  knowledge  of  what 
there  was  to  laugh  about ;  she  was  often  treated 
in  this  way,  and  did  not  understand  it.  She 
turned  away  with  a  dignified  air,  a  trifle  hurt 
that  her  logic  should  produce  only  laughter; 
but  there  was  decision  as  well  as  dignity  in 
the  tone  in  which  she  said :  "I  mean  to  tell 
him." 

That  was  the  beginning  of  effort  for  Tony 
Black,  as  he  was  called  for  convenience,  though 
his  full  name  was  Antony  Blackwell. 

Faithfully  did  Sadie  pour  information  on  him 
and  ply  him  with  questions  until,  from  staring 
and  being  stupidly  amused,  and  then  half -vexed 
with  her,  he  at  last  became  interested,  and  lis- 
tened and  asked  questions  himself,  and  began 
to  think.  "Sadie's  heathen,"  he  was  familiarly 
called  by  certain  amused  friends,  who  were. told 
the  story. 

He  was  called  so  long  after  the  name  had 
ceased  to  fit  him ;  for  this  is  a  true  story  of 
something  which  happened  years  ago.  The 
years  went  by,  and  Tony  Black  became  so 
utterly  changed  that  people  forgot  that  they 
had  ever  called  him  heathen,  or  even  Tony. 
' '  Young  Blackwell "  was  the  name  by  which 
he  began  to  be  known ;  then,  after  a  time,  "Mr. 
Blackwell."  And  one  evening,  when  there  was 
a  great  meeting  in  one  of  the  largest  churches 
of  a  certain  city,  he  was  introduced  as  ' '  The 
Rev.  Mr.  Blackwell,  who  is  under  appointment 
to  go  to  Africa  as  a  missionary."  Who  do  you 
think  went  with  him  ?  Sadie  herself  !  He  told 
on  the  platform  something  of  his  story ;  of  the 
time  when-  he  was  called  "  Sadie's  heathen," 
and  of  his  joy  and  pride  in  having  the  name 
altered,  until  now,  by  her  friends,  he  was  called 
"Sadie's  minister."  But  by  mere  acquaint- 
ances they  were  spoken  of  as  Rev.  and  Mrs. 
Antony  Blackwell. 

MYRA  SPAFFORD. 


QUEER  CREwVTURES. 


QUEER  CREATURES. 

HIS  is  a  scene  in  Africa.  Those 
queer  creatures  scampering  up 
the  tree,  are  monkeys,  to  be 
sure ;  the  other  big  lizards  are 
crocodiles,  you  see.  The  way 
of  it  was  that  one  of  the  croco- 
diles was  sleeping  —  or  pretending  to  sleep  — 
on  the  bank  of  the  river,  when  along 
came  a  careless  little  monkey,  and  his 
eyes  were  not  where  they  should  have 
been,  or  they  did  not  look  sharply  at  this 
thing  that  seemed  to  be  but  a  log ;  when, 
before  he  knew  what  he  was  about,  this 
* '  log "  opened  his  big  mouth,  and  with 
a  sudden  flap  of  his  tail,  in  went  the 
thoughtless  monkey.  That  was  the  end 
of  that  young  monkey.  That's  about 
the  way  the  saloons  swallow  folks. 
Don't  go  near  them  ! 

"But   tell    the    rest.      What   did    the 
mother  monkey  say  ?  " 

She  was  mad  as — "a  setting  hen." 
She  shouted  at  the  top  of  her  voice,  and 
a  great  army  of  monkeys  came  gallop- 
ing to  her  to  know  what  was  the  matter. 
Now  one  monkey  knows  just  how  to  tell 
the  others  what's  the  matter ;  so  they  all 
set  up  such  a  hue  and  cry  as  you  never 
heard.  They  scolded  and  insulted  the 
crocodile,  and  twitched  their  faces  and 
shook  their  fists  at  him,  and  jabbered 
such  a  bedlam  that  all  the  crocodiles  ran 
together  to  see  what  was  to  pay.  Upon 
the  bank  out  of  the  water  they  climbed, 
and  with  open  mouths  and  loud  hisses, 
hurried  after  the  scampering  monkeys ; 
but  those  spry  creatures  bounded  up  that 
big  high  tree,  and  from  the  lofty  limbs 
looked  down  and  scolded  with  all  their 
might  and  main,  and  again  shook  their  fists 
and  snapped  their  long  finger-nails  to  show  how 
they  would  tear  every  hair  out  of  the  crock's 
hide  if  they  could  get  a  chance  —  if  there  were 
any  hair. 

It  would  have  been  better  if  they  all,  monks 
and  crocks,  had  come  kindly  together  and  asked 
one  another's  pardon  and  settled  their  differ- 


ences, and   signed   a   pledge   never  to  eat  or 
scold  one  another  any  more.     Read  this : 

"  We  had  a  grand  temperance  rally  here  last  night.  The 
children  marched  around  the  neighborhood,  before  the  meet- 
ing, with  banner  and  song.  The  church  was  beautifully  deco- 
rated with  vines,  branches  of  palm-trees,  maidenhair  ferns, 
calla  lilies,  white  orchid  blossoms,  etc.  The  place  was  filled. 
.  .  .  There  were  songs,  dialogues,  temperance  calechism, 
temperance  stories  and  speeches.  Over  twenty  came  forward 
and  took  the  blue  ribbon.  One  had  been  a  'hard  case.' 
Among  the  natives  pledging  is  almost  equal  to  coming  to 


SCAMPKRINO   TP    THK   TREE. 

Christ.  .  .  .  Every  day  began  with  a  sunrise  prayer  meet- 
ing. A  chorus  of  young  people,  the  girls  dressed  in  white, 
occupied  the  platform.  They  enjoy  music." 

So  writes  Rev.  Mr.  Dorward  of  Umzumbe, 
Africa.  You  see  there  is  a  difference  between 
the  young  folks  of  Africa  and  the  monks  and 
crocks.  What  is  the  difference?  And  which 
of  the  two  meetings  do  you  prefer?  L. 


THE     HARD     T  E  X  T .  —  E  A  S  T  E  R . 


THE   HARD   TEXT. 

(Matt.  xiii.  57.) 

YOU  would  think  people  would  be  proud  of 
a  neighbor  who  does  well.  They  are 
often  jealous  of  him.  When  he  becomes  very 
great  they  often  are  all  the  more  jealous,  and 
say  hard  things  about  him,  and  he  must  some- 
times actually  get  away  to  get  peace  and  re- 
spect. When  Columbus  told  his  neighbors  he 
was  sure  he  could  get  to  the  East  Indies  by 
sailing  westward  they  laughed  him  to  scorn. 
He  asked  his  own  nation  for  ships  and  men  to 
sail  away  on  a  voyage  of  discovery.  He  got 
nothing  but  opposition.  He  was  compelled  to 
go  away  to  Spain  for  honor  and  ships. 

Jesus'  neighbors  ought  to  have  been  proud  of 
him ;  but  they  drove  him  away.  They  tried 
even  to  kill  him,  so  jealous  were  they  of  him. 
But  he  got  honor  elsewhere.  So  it  usually  is. 
Do  you  honor  him  or  drive  hiin  away?  L. 


WHAT   HE    COULD    DO. 

I  READ  not  long  ago  of  a  little  fellow  who 
was  employed  in  a  Boston  office  as  errand 
boy.  Four  young  men  had  the  office  together, 
and  liked  to  spend  their  leisure  moments  in 
teasing  the  boy,  who  was  very  small  for  his 
years. 

One  day,  after  they  had  been  chatting  to- 
gether, and  using  many  oaths,  with  which  they 
were  in  the  habit  of  mixing  their  conversation, 
one  of  them  turned  to  the  boy  and  said  :  "  Dick, 
what  do  you  expect  to  do  for  a  living,  anyhow  ? 
You  can't  be  a  business  man ;  there  is  no  sort 
of  business  that  you  can  do  ;  you  are  too  small. 
The  fact  is  you'll  be  a  dwarf,  and  I  don't  see 
how  you  are  to  get  your  living." 

Said  Dick,  ' '  I  can  do  something  now  which 
you  four  gentlemen  can't  do." 

"You  can,  eh?    What  in  the  world  is  that?" 

"I  can  keep  from  swearing,"  said  the  boy, 
in  a  firm,  clear  voice. 

One  of  the  young  men  laughed,  another 
whistled,  and  all  turned  and  walked  away, 
leaving  Dick  master  of  the  situation. 


EASTER. 

LONG  nights  she  wept ! 
Sad  days  and  weary  weeks  went  by, 
And  life  resumed  its  routine  mournfully ; 
The  tasks  that  once  were  easy  to  perform 
Did  seem  vast  mountains  to  the  strength  so  worn  ; 
And  if  the  sun  did  shine,  or  if  it  not, 
In  shadows  dwelt  her  heart ;  no  ray,  no  spot 
Of  light  or  hope  did  penetrate  the  gloom  — 
This  life  seemed  sadder  far  than  death  or  tomb. 

And  still  she  wept ! 

'Till  to  her  tear-washed  eyes  there  came, 
Like  ' '  bow  of  promise  "  after  summer  rain, 
A  vision  beauteous  from  that  "  other  land  "  — 
Sleep  and  a  "  maiden"  walking  hand  in  hand. 
They  passed    among   those   homes  of   "silent 

dead," 
They  found  "her  darling's  grave,"  the  "name" 

they  read, 

Then,  bending  on  her  soulful,  tender  eyes, 
The  "maiden "  whispered  :  "Did  our  dear  Lord 

rise  ? 
Then  wherefore  fall  these  teardrops  from  thine 

eyes? 

If  '  Christ  is  risen  indeed,'  then  shall  not  we, 
His  'friends,'  his  'heirs, 'live  through  eternity? 

' '  Why  should   the   Christians    fear,  who  thus 

believe  ? 

Why  will  they  not  the  '  Comforter '  receive  ? 
I  come  each  year  to  raise  the  drooping  head, 
To  whisper  to  the  mourner,  Is  Christ  dead, 
That  you  so  mourn  your  loved?    Look  upward, 

sing ! 

Behold  yon  butterfly  on  gorgeous  wing ! 
Know  that  this  grave  is  but  the  chrysalis  — 
Then  light,  and  glory,  where  the  Saviour  is ; 
And  '  where  I  am,  there  ye  shall  also  be  ' ; 
'  Come,  weary,  heavy  laden,  come  to  me !  " 

The  vision  fled, 

But  to  her  heart  there  softly  came 
Abiding  faith  in  Jesus'  precious  name; 
A  joy,  that  all  her  sorrow  she  could  rest 
Upon  her  Saviour's  sympathizing  breast, 
And,  in  the  place  of  gloom,  and  fear,  was  born 
A  perfect  trust  —  on  that  fair  Plaster  morn. 

—  Exchange. 


HAVE    A    BITE  ? 


SHALT,  T   BTTK  OFK   THTS   BUTTON? 


ELSIE'S     PLAN. 


QUEEN    ELIZABETH. 

BOUT  three  hundred  years  ago 
England's  great  queen  died. 
She  was  not  very  beautiful. 
Some  said  this  was  a  great 
trial  to  her,  and  that  she  took 
marvelous  pains  to  "fix "  her- 
self up  to  look  as  well  as  any  lady  in  the  land. 
Fine  feathers  often  make  pretty  birds,  but  all 
Queen  Bess'  efforts  failed  to  make  her  hand- 
some. However,  as  she  had  royal  power  she 
had  many  admirers.  They  called  her  "charm- 
ing," "lovely,"  "lily,"  "rose,"  and  such  other 
words  to  flatter  her.  She  liked  it,  and  per- 
suaded herself  that  after  all  her  features  and 
complexion  were  nearly  exquisite. 

However  that  be  she  had  not  a  few  offers  of 
marriage.  But  none  suited  her,  or  may  be  she, 
as  a  queen,  did  not  want  to  be  bothered  with  a 
husband,  who  would  be  continually  interfering 
in  the  goyernment. 

It  is  sad  to  think  of  some  things  this  woman 
did.  Of  course  you  will  read  about  it.  Some- 
times she  would  have  outbursts  of  anger  so 
great  that  she  would  actually  box  the  ears  of 
those  around  her,  no  matter  .how  distinguished 
they  were. 

The  great  stain  upon  her  character  was  her 
treatment  of  Mary,  Queen  of  Scots,  her  own 
relative.  Mary  was  imprisoned  eighteen  years, 
then  put  to  death  on  charge  of  conspiracy. 

But  England  arose  to  extraordinary  pros- 
perity under  the  long  reign  of  "  Queen  Bess." 
There  were  great  scholars  in  her  day,  and  she 
encouraged  all  sorts  of  improvements.  You 
Pansy  girls  must  some  day  dress  your  P.  S. 
President  up  in  the  Elizabethan  style  and  say 
if  you  would  like  it  nowadays.  L. 


(Sent  with  the  gift  of  a  Canary  Bird  in  Cage.) 

IN  memory  of  the  birdlings  fair 
Who  from  your  nest  have  flown, 

To  try  in  Heaven's  serener  air 
The  wings  earth  could  not  own. 

M.  S.  B. 


ELSIE'S    PLAN. —I. 

(Something  for  Mamma.} 

HE  thought  grew  in  Elsie's 
mind,  nourished  by  three  re- 
marks made  by  her  mother 
and  sisters.  They  were  all  at 
work  except  Irma,  who  was 
trying  to  teach  Leoline  to  jump 
gracefully  from  her  shoulder,  instead  of  giving 
such  a  rude  bound.  Leoline  was  the  cat.  Irma 
was  not  apt  to  be  at  work,  if  the  truth  must  be 
told ;  she  was  the  only  one  of  the  little  house- 
hold who  did  not  seem  to  understand  the  need 
for  being  industrious.  She  was  two  years  older 
than  Elsie,  but  the  grown-up  sisters  often  said 
of  her  that  Elsie  was  at  least  three  years  ahead 
of  Irma  in  judgment.  I  have  sometimes  thought 
if  they  had  said  in  conscientiousness  it  would 
have  been  nearer  the  truth. 

At  this  particular  time,  while  Irma  struggled 
with  the  cat's  education,  Elsie  took  neat  stitches 
in  the  apron  she  was  mending,  her  face  looking 
thoughtful  the  while.  Margaret,  the  oldest  sis- 
ter, was  sewing  swiftly  on  a  dress  of  Irma's, 
setting  in  new  sleeres,  and  in  other  ways  trying 
to  make  the  half-worn  garment  look  like  a  new 
one.  Nannie  came  in,  dustpan  in  hand,  and 
with  a  handkerchief  bound  about  her  hair  to 
protect  it  from  the  dust,  just  as  her  mother 
opened  the  door  of  the  kitchen,  with  her  hands 
filled  with  soiled  napkins  and  towels. 


ELSIE'S     PLAN. 


' '  Mother,  where  can  I  put  that  roll  of  mat- 
ting?" Nannie  asked,  a  touch  of  irritation  in 
her  voice ;  "I  have  reached  the  end  of  my  re- 
sources in  tucking  things  away.  If  I  ever  do 
build  a  house  I  will  have  all  the  closets  I  want ; 
good-sized  ones,  too  —  and  if  there  is  any  space 
left  for  rooms,  there  may  be  a  few  tucked  in ; 
but  the  closets  I  will  have." 

Mrs.  Harding  sighed.  "Closets  are  certainly 
very  scarce  in  this  house,"  she  said  wearily,  "as 
well  as  many  other  things.  I  don't  know  what 
to  do  with  the  soiled  clothes ;  we  need  a  clothes 
hamper  very  much.  There  is  a  corner  in  the 
upper  back  hall  where  one  might  stand,  if  we 
had  it."  The  sentence  ended  as  it  had  begun, 
with  a  little  sigh. 

Irma  echoed  the  sigh  in  a  sort  of  groan.  "I 
saw  such  a  pretty  one,  mother,  last  night,  at 
Turner's.  It  was  only  two  dollars ;  I  thought 
of  you  when  I  saw  them  unpacking  it.  And  to 
think  that  we  cannot  afford  even  two  dollars 
for  a  basket !  " 

"There  are  worse  trials  in  life  than  even  that, 
I  suspect,"  said  Nannie,  darting  an  angry  glance 
at  Irma,  as  she  saw  the  flush  spread  and  deepen 
over  her  mother's  face.  Margaret  made  haste 
to  change  the  subject. 

"We  each  have  our  perplexities,  it  seems," 
she  said,  with  a  light  laugh;  "mine  has  to  do 
with  dress.  I  don't  know  what  to  do  with  that 
light  sateen  of  mine ;  it  is  too  gay  to  wear  about 
the  house  at  work,  even  if  it*  were  long  enough, 
which  it  isn't.  It  is  not  worth  giving  away,  it 
is  too  good  to  throw  into  the  rag  bag,  and  there 
isn't  room  for  it  in  my  closet.  Now  what  is  to 
be  done  in  such  a  case  ?  " 

Then  Elsie  spoke  for  the  first  time,  eagerly, 
a  bright  look  flashing  over  her  face,  as  though 
some  perplexity  had  just  then  been  delightfully 
solved.  "  O,  Margaret !  will  you  give  the  dress 
to  me  to  do  just  what  I  please  with?  " 

"To  you,  child!  what  can  you  do  with  it? 
It  isn't  just  the  thing  for  a  dollie,  I  should  say." 

"No,"  said  Irma  scornfully,  "I  should  think 
not.  Do  let  us  have  our  dolls  dressed  in  good 
taste  and  decent  style,  even  if  we  cannot  afford 
anything  for  ourselves." 

' '  I  don't  want  it  for  my  doll,  Margaret.  I 
have  a  plan,  a  real  nice  one,  if  you  will  let  me 


have  the  dress,  and  if  mother  will  give  me  the 
matting  Nannie  cannot  find  a  place  for.  "Will 
you,  mother?  There  is  only  a  little  of  it  left." 

"Is  it  the  yellow  plaid,  Nannie?  Why,  yes, 
dear,  if  there  is  any  pleasure  to  be  gotten  out 
of  that  yard  and  a  half  of  cheap  matting,  by 
all  means  use  it;  especially  since  there  is  no 
place  to  store  it." 

Then  Mrs.  Harding  left  the  room,  giving 
Nannie  a  chance  to  say  what  she  was  long- 
ing to. 

"I  never  saw  such  a  girl  as  you  are,  Irma; 
you  omit  no  opportunity  to  remind  mother  of 
our  poverty.  Even  so  trivial  a  thing  as  a 
soiled  clothes  hamper  must  draw  from  you  a 
woe-begone  sigh.  Why  can't  you  remember 
that  it  is  hard  enough  for  mother,  at  the  best, 
without  trying  to  keep  the  thought  of  our 
troubles  ever  before  her  ?  " 

"Why,  dear  me!  "  said  Irma,  "what  did  I 
say?  Mother  knew  before  I  spoke  of  it  that 
we  could  not  afford  even  two  dollars  to  buy  a 
clothes  hamper.  I  don't  think  she  is  very  likely 
to  forget  that  we  have  lost  our  money." 

"Not  if  you  are  around,"  answered  Nannie 
angrily.  "I  think  you  are  a  selfish  girl;  you 
do  nothing  but  groan  and  regret,  for  your 
share.  Well,  I  can't  help  it,"  she  added,  in 
answer  to  Margaret's  warning  look;  "that 
child's  selfish  f  rettings  do  try  me  so !  " 

' '  We  must  not  expect  old  heads  on  young 
shoulders,  remember,"  Margaret  said  gently, 
as  Irma  put  Leoline  down  with  a  decided 
bounce,  and  slammed  the  door  the  least  bit 
after  her,  as  she  left  the  room. 

"It  is  the  contrast  that  makes  one  notice  it 
so,"  answered  Nannie,  with  a  significant  nod  of 
her  head  toward  Elsie.  But  Elsie  neither  heard 
the  words,  nor  saw  the  nod ;  her  mind  was  busy 
elsewhere. 

"  O,  Margaret!  "  she  said  eagerly,  "  I  have 
the  loveliest  plan.  You  know  to-morrow  will 
be  mother's  birthday,  and  I  was  all  the  evening 
wondering  what  I  could  give  her ;  now  I  know. 
Nannie,  I  will  take  the  matting  out  of  your 
way.  I  mean  to  make  a  clothes  hamper  for 
mother  out  of  that  and  Margaret's  dress." 

Nannie  laughed  outright,  and  even  Margaret 
smiled  as  she  said :  "  Why,  dear  child,  how  can 


AN     OLD-TIME     MAY-DAY. 


you?  I  am  afraid  t^iat  is  a  very  large 
undertaking." 

"No,"  said  Elsie  positively ;  " I  see  just  how 
I  can  do  it.  The  plan  flashed  into  my  mind  as 
soon  as  you  and  Nannie  began  to  talk  about  the 
two  things  in  the  way.  I  almost  know  I  can 
do  it.  If  you  will  help  to  keep  mother  away 
from  our  room  this  afternoon,  and  she  won't 
give  me  anything  special  to  do,  I  can  make  it 
and  have  it  ready  for  to-morrow  morning.  I 
know  just  how  to  go  to  work." 

"Let  her  try  it,"  said  Nannie,  with  a  wise 
nod  of  her  head.  "The  child  will  make  some- 
thing ;  I  never  knew  her  to  fail  when  she  had 
undertaken  to  do  a  thing,  and  mother's  birth- 


day ought  to  be  noticed  in  some  way,  even 
though  we  cannot  do  as  we  used.  I'm  going 
to  fix  over  her  sewing-chair ;  I  believe  in  useful 
presents  myself.  "We  will  agree  to  keep  mother 
in  order,  Elsie,  and  the  sooner  the  matting  dis- 
appears from  the  front  hall  the  better." 

So  the  little  room  occupied  by  the  two  younger 
girls  was  locked  all  the  afternoon,  while  Elsie 
worked  steadily,  and  Irma  lounged  on  the  bed 
with  a  book,  encouraging  her  sister  occasionally 
with :  "You  never  can  do  it  in  the  world,  Elsie 
Harding  !  I  don't  see  any  sense  in  trying.  For 
my  part  I  would  rather  give  her  no  present  than 
a  bungling  thing  like  that.  You  can't  sew  mat- 
ting decently ;  it  ravels  so."  PANSY. 


AN   OLD-TIME   MAY-DAY. 


THE  CUSTOM   HOUSE,    NEW   YOKK. 


ABOUT     NEW     YORK. 


ABOUT    NEW   YORK. 


BY    THE    PANSIES. 


READ  about  it  when  it  was 
called  New  Amsterdam.  A 
thousand  people,  and  it  was 
just  a  straggling  little  town. 
Pearl  Street  they  called  "De 
Perel  Straat."  The  folks  were 
very  proud  of  this  street ;  there  were  forty-three 
houses  on  it!  One  man  thought  his  fortune 
was  made  because  he  had  bought  a  lot  two 


There  were  no  railroads  to  ride  on ;  not  a  sin- 
gle train  going  out  of  New  York  City !  That 
was  in  1827.  It  seems  strange  that  such  won- 
derful things  can  take  place  in  one  century.  I 
think  this  is  the  grandest  century  we  ever  had, 
ROBERT  CAMPBELL. 


I  SPENT  a  week  in  New  York,  and  boarded 
very  near  Madison  Square.  I  was  on  Twenty- 
third  Street,  pretty  near  to  Fifth  Avenue,  and 
Broadway  streaks  across  the  city  right  there, 
so  I  had  a  chance  to  see  almost  everything; 
because  those  who  know  anything  about  New 


COOPEK      INSTITUTE. 


years  before  for  fifty  dollars,  and  was  offered 
two  hundred  and  fifty  for  it.  And  the  lot  was 
thirty  feet  wide  and  over  a  hundred  feet  deep ! 
Think  of  a  New  York  man  to-day  buying  a  lot 
of  that  size  for  two  hundred  and  fifty  dollars ! 
My  father  says  it  would  take  a  fortune  to  buy 
such  a  lot.  HENRY  STUART. 


MY  cousin  and  I  had  great  fun  reading  about 
a  family  who  took  a  long  journey  from  New 
York  to  Albany.  They  went  on  a  river  steamer ; 
started  at  daylight  and  reached  Albany  at  sun- 
set, and  thought  they  had  done  a  big  thing. 


York  City  know  that  if  you  see  what  is  on  those 
streets,  why,  you  have  seen  a  good  deal.  It  is 
Broadway  and  Fifth  Avenue  going  criss-cross 
that  make  Madison  Square.  There  are  lots  of 
hotels  around  there.  The  park  is  just  magnifi- 
cent ;  I  like  it  better  than  Central  Park,  because 
it  is  right  there,  you  know.  There  is  a  splen- 
did fountain  in  the  middle,  and  a  drinking 
fountain  somewhere  else,  and  statues  of  Seward 
and  Farragut.  Seward  is  sitting  down,  and 
looks  as  though  he  didn't  care. 

If  I  had  room  I  could  tell  you  lots  of  things 
about  Madison  Square ;  but  since  you  only  let 


ABOUT     NEW     YORK. 


us  have  a  few  lines,  what  will  a  fellow  do? 
I'm  going  to  the  Christian  Endeavor  meeting 
in  July,  and  that  will  give  a  good  chance  to 
study  up  that  part  of  the  city,  because  the 
meeting  is  to  be  in  Madison  Square. 

DAVID  G.  DUNLAP. 


MY  mother  used  to  be  a  pupil  in  Cooper  In- 
stitute, and  when  I  went  to  New  York  a  few 
months  ago  father  took  me  to  see  it.  It  is  very 
large ;  it  cost  more  than  six  hundred  thousand 
dollars.  Peter  Cooper  built  it  about  thirty- five 
years  ago;  and  then  he  gave  three  hundred 
thousand  dollars  to  keep  the  free  library  going 
which  belongs  to  it.  They  have  all  sorts  of 
schools  in  the  building.  You  can  learn  how  to 
telegraph,  and  to  write  on  the  type-writer,  and 
how  to  draw  and  paint.  My  mother  was  in  the 
painting  school,  and  she  paints  beautifully. 
We  went  up  to  the  reading-room ;  it  is  on  the 
third  floor ;  there  are  rows  and  rows  and  rows 
of  books !  It  makes  me  dizzy  to  think  of  so 
many.  The  books  are  all  covered,  so  they 
don't  look  very  pretty.  There  are  long  tables 
and  lots  of  chairs ;  you  are  given  a  check  made 
of  brass,  or  tin,  or  something,  when  you  go  into 
the  room ;  then  if  you  want  a  book  or  maga- 
zine you  go  to  the  desk  and  ask  for  it,  and  give 
that  check  in  return ;  you  cannot  get  out  of  the 
room  without  that  check,  so  you  are  apt  to 
carry  your  book  back  when  you  are  done  with 
it,  and  get  your  check  again.  After  all  there 
are  only  about  twenty  thousand  books  on  the 
shelves.  I  was  disappointed  ;  I  thought  there 
were  millions.  EMMELINE  ANDREWS. 


DICK  WALTERS  is  in  our  ' '  General  Informa- 
tion" class,  and  when  Trinity  Church  was 
talked  about  Dick  declared  he  had  been  in  the 
old  building  which  was  put  there  in  1697.  I 
knew  better,  because  my  great-grandfather  told 
about  its  being  burned  in  the  fire  of  1776.  But 
we  couldn't  make  Dick  Walters  give  up  the 
notion  that  he  was  in  the  very  identical  church 
built  two  hundred  years  ago.  At  last  Profes- 
sor Townley  explained  that  it  was  the  old  site, 
but  a  new  church  built  in  1846.  Since  we  had 
our  fuss  about  it  I  have  been  there  myself.  It 
is  a  splendid  building,  I  think,  if  it  isn't  two 


hundred  years  old.  The  steeple  is  two  hundred 
and  eighty-four  feet  high,  and  the  chimes  are 
lovely.  It  is  an  old  brown  church,  and  looks 
solemn  and  still ;  it  is  right  on  Broadway,  but 
when  you  step  inside  it  seems  just  as  still! 
You  can  hear  the  birds  chirp  on  the  trees  in 
the  churchyard, 
though  there  is  a 
terrible  roar  of 
noise  outside.  Al- 
exander Hamilton 
is  buried  in  Trinity 
churchyard. 
ROBERT  PAXTON. 


THE   OBELISK. 


I  SUPPOSE  every- 
body will  write 
about  Central 
Park;  but  I  can't 
help  it,  I  want  to 
tell  some  things 
about  it  myself.  I 
was  there  in  June. 
We  went  up  to 
Fifty-ninth  Street 
and  Fifth  Avenue 
and  took  a  car- 
riage. We  drove 
through  the  Schol- 
ars'  Gate ;  this 
took  us  straight  to 
the  menagerie,  and  we  saw  the  bear-pits  and 
everything,  though  they  say  they  don't  have 
the  menagerie  there  any  more.  We  took  a 
row  on  the  lake,  and  we  saw  the  Bethesda 
Fountain  with  its  real  angel  —  well,  I  mean 
a  carved  one,  of  course  —  bending  over  the 
water.  Then  we  walked  through  The  Ramble, 
which  I  think  is  the  loveliest  part  of  the  park, 
only  they  won't  let  you  break  off  the  least  little 
speck  of  a  flower  or  leaf.  There  are  lots  of 
birds,  and  they  seemed  busier  and  happier  than 
any  birds  I  ever  saw.  We  saw  a  sign  directing 
us  to  the  "Dairy,"  so  we  went  there  and  got 
some  splendid  milk  and  some  bread  and  butter. 
We  children  wanted  to  go  to  "  The  Carousal "  ; 
that  is  a  sign  which  points  out  the  way  to  the 
children's  playground,  where  there  are  swings 
and  everything ;  but  father  said  we  hadn't  time, 


ABOUT    NEW     YORK. 


and  that  we  could  have  "  carousals"  enough  at 
home.  LAURA  J.  WESTOVER. 


LAURA  has  written  a  letter  about  Central 
Park,  and  hasn't  mentioned  the  obelisk.  Ho, 
ho !  if  that  isn't  just  like  a  girl.  I  have  studied 
up  about  it  since  I  was  there.  They  had  an 
awful  time  bringing  it  over  here  from  Egypt. 
They  had  to  cut  a  hole  in  the  bow  of  the  boat 
that  brought  it  to  get  it  in ;  and  then  mend  the 
hole,  of  course,  before  they  could  start.  And 
when  the  steamer  reached  New  York  it  took 
thirty-two  horses  to  draw  just  the  pedestal  down 
to  Central  Park ! 

The  carvings  on  the  obelisk  are  called  hier- 


high,  and  it  weighs  three  hundred  and  twenty 
tons.  I  don't  exactly  see  what  we  wanted  of 
it ;  but  it  is  rather  nice  to  look  at  it  and  think 
it  came  all  the  way  from  Egypt  and  was  pre- 
sented to  us  by  Ismail  Pasha. 

REUBEN  T.  WESTOVER. 


THE  nicest  ride  I  had  while  in  New  York  was 
along  Fifth  Avenue.  We  smarted  at  Washing- 
ton Square  and  went  up  to  Central  Park.  It  is 
almost  three  miles,  and  all  the  way  there  were 
such  beautiful  houses  and  churches  to  look  at, 
and  the  road  was  as  smooth  as  the  floor.  We 
passed  the  white  marble  house  built  by  A.  T. 
Stewart ;  it  cost  three  million  dollars,  and  the 


VIEW  OF   MADISON    SQUARE. 


oglyphics,  and  used  to  mean  writing ;  but 
scholars  have  had  a  great  time  trying  to  find 
out  what  the  writing  says.  They  don't  agree 
about  it,  but  they  think  it  is  a  lot  of  stuff  about 
some  heathen  gods.  There  are  carved  hawks 
on  the  top  of  the  column,  and  these  are  said  to 
be  the  birds  that  belonged  to  one  of  the  gods, 
because  they  could  fly  the  highest  and  could 
look  at  the  sun.  The  obelisk  is  sixty-nine  feet 


people  who  now  rent  it  pay  thirty-seven  thou- 
sand dollars  a  year  for  it.  Only  think !  and 
we  get  three  hundred  a  year  for  our  house,  and 
call  it  a  good  rent;  but  then,  it  didn't  cost 
three  millions.  Then  we  passed  the  elegant 
Vanderbilt  houses,  and  the  magnificent  Lenox 
Library  building,  and  O,  dear!  I  can't  think 
what  others.  I  thought  I  knew  a  great  de: 
about  them  when  I  began,  but  they  are  :  . 


ABOUT     NEW     YORK.  — THE     MOllllOW. 


mixed  up  in  my  mind.  But  what  I  wanted  to 
say  was,  that  the  drive  from  Washington  Square 
away  up  to  Eighty-first  Street  must  certainly  be 
the  very  splendidest  in  the  world.  I  know  I 
never  saw  so  many  beautiful  buildings  before ; 


THE   MORROW. 


OF  all  the  tender  guards  which  Jesus  drew 
About  our  frail  humanity,  to  stay 
The  pressure  and  the  jostle  that  alway 


FIFTH    AVENUE. 


and  I  do  like  grand  houses  and  grand  churches 
and  everything.  KATE  W.  GLOVER. 

[It  has  been  very  difficult  to  select  items  for  this  paper,  be- 
cause of  the  wealth  of  objects  to  choose  from.  We  could  make 
the  article  twice  as  long  just  as  well  as  not,  out  of  the  material 
we  have,  if  there  were  only  room  for  it  in  the  magazine. 
Also,  &  me  of  the  best  and  brightest  items  have  been  omitted, 
and  others  perhaps  not  quite  so  interesting  chosen  in  their 
place,  because  they  spoke  of  some  building  which  we  could 
show  you  in  picture.  The  Pansies  will  understand,  I  hope, 
that  we  fully  appreciate  their  efforts  to  help  us,  and  that  we 
enjoy  the  many  items  which  we  do  not  use  quite  as  much  as 
those  we  select.  But  do  please  be  more  prompt  with  your 
letters.  —  EDITORS.] 


Are  ready  to  disturb,  whate'er  we  do,    [through, 
And    mar   the   work   our   hands    would    carry 

None  more  than  this  environs  us  each  day 

With  kindly  wardenship —  "Therefore,  I  say, 
Take  no  thought  for  the  morrow."  Yet  we  pay 
The  wisdom  scanty  heed,  and  impotent 

To  bear  the  burden  of  the  imperious  Now, 
Assume  the  future's  exigence  unsent. 

God  grants  no  overplus  of  power ;  'tis  shed 
Like  morning  manna.     Yet  we  dare  to  bow 
And  ask,  ' '  Give  us  to-day  our  morrow's  bread  !  " 

—  Selected. 


MAJOR'S     AUTOBIOGRAPHY. 


MAJOR'S   AUTOBIOGRAPHY, 
in. 

T  is  a  nice  light  night,  and  if 
you  youngsters  have  stared 
long  enough  at  the  moon,  since 
neighbor  Sport  has  come  to 
call  we  will  try  to  be  a  little 
more  social. 

Pet  and  Spot  and  Curley  may  play  on  the 
lawn  if  they  choose,  and  have  as  good  a  time 
as  they  like. 

You  have  come  to  ask  my  advice,  have  you, 
Sport  ? 

Well,  it  doesn't  cost  much  to  give  advice,  but 
it  isn't  always  so  easy  to  take  it. 

What  is  the  question  in  mind? 

Have  been  slighted  and  abused,  have  you? 
Tell  us  about  it. 

Scolded  you  after  you  hunted  birds  all  day 
for  him,  and  then  forgot  to  give  you  any  sup- 
per. That  was  pretty  hard ;  pretty  mean  treat- 
ment, I  should  say. 

Had  your  master  been  drinking? 

No?     How  came  it  about? 

"Why,  just  before  time  to  start  for  home  I 
found  a  big  flock  of  quail,  and  showed  him  just 
where  they  were ;  and  he  crept  up,  gun  in  hand, 
and  tried  to  fire,  but  for  some  reason  the  gun 
did  not  go  off. 

"That  put  him  out  of  humor,  and  he  scolded 
the  gun,  and  by  that  frightened  the  birds  so 
they  flew  away. 

"  Then  he  sent  me  to  find  them,  and  I  could 
get  no  snuff  of  them,  hunt  as  hard  as  I  could. 
Then  he  spoke  to  me  as  he  never  did  before, 
and  throwing  the  gun  upon  his  shoulder  started 
for  the  house,  never  noticing  me  by  any  word, 
whistle  or  sign. 

"Well,  I  dropped  my  tail  between  my  legs, 
and  followed  at  a  good  distance. 

"He  didn't  forget  the  cow,  or  the  pig,  or  the 
pony,  but  took  no  notice  of  me,  and  I  don't  be- 
lieve I  could  eat  now  if  I  had  a  chance." 

Poor  fellow !.  come  here  and  lie  down  by  me. 
Never  mind,  never  mind ;  these  men  seem 
sometimes  to  have  no  heart  for  us,  no  matter 
how  faithful  we  have  been. 


I  am  so  thankful  we  have  a  master  of  another 
kind. 

One  of  you  run  and  bring  some  of  that  sup- 
per that  was  left. 

We  had  a  very  nice  supply  this  evening,  and 
there  is  enough  for  two  hungry  fellows  yet. 

You  just  say  no  more  till  you  have  had  the 
meat  from  that  bone,  and  see  if  you  don't  feel 
better.  Things  hurt  worse  when  one  is  tired 
and  hungry. 

There,  now  rest  a  while,  and  I  will  tell  you  a 
story  about  a  great-uncle  of  mine,  who  lived  in 
Groton. 

He  was  pretty  well  educated,  and  did  a  great 
many  things  that  some  of  his  four-footed  friends 
would  not  be  trusted  to  do,  even  if  they  knew 
enough. 

Well,  Diamond  —  that  was  his  name  —  was- 
pretty  good-natured,  but  a  little  sensitive.  Be- 
ing very  affectionate,  it  was  easy  for  those  whom 
he  loved  to  hurt  his  feelings. 

His  master  was  a  mechanic,  and  had  to  go  to 
his  shop  every  day.  The  distance  was  so  great 
that  he  did  not  come  home  to  dinner;  so  his- 
wife  would  prepare  his  dinner,  put  it  in  a  pail, 
or  in  a  basket,  as  it  might  happen,  lay  in  the 
bottom  a  nice  bone  for  Diamond,  and  give  it 
all  to  him  to  take  to  his  master.  That  he  would 
do  as  faithfully  as  any  one. 

When  the  master  had  finished  eating  what 
had  been  brought,  or  as  much  as  he  wanted,  he 
would  take  the  bone,  and  any  scraps  left,  and 
give  them  to  his  faithful  carrier,  who  had  been, 
the  while,  lying  under  the  bench,  patiently 
waiting. 

But  one  day  there  was  a  break.  The  mis- 
tress said  she  was  going  shopping  that  day,  and 
would  take  the  dinner  to  her  husband  herself. 

That  rather  hurt  Diamond's  feelings,  thougli 
he  said  nothing,  but  followed  on,  and  lay  down 
in  his  usual  place  to  wait  for  his  bone.  The 
master  sat  down  to  his  dinner  with  no  word  for 
his  faithful  servant  who  was  not  permitted  to 
bring  the  basket,  finished  his  meal,  closed  the 
basket,  and  handed  it  to  his  wife. 

No  bone  was  there,  nothing  for  the  one  wh& 
had  been  waiting,  hungry,  but  patient.  The 
only  notice  taken  of  him  was  a  call  to  follow 
the  lady  and  carry  the  empty  basket.  With  a. 


BARNYARD     ILLUSIONS. 


heavy  heart  and  drooping  tail  he  obeyed. 
When  the  purchases  were  made  and  put  into 
the  basket,  Diamond  was  ordered  to  go  ahead 
of  his  mistress  and  take  the  burden  home. 

On  he  trudged  until  he  neared  a  bridge  which 
they  must  cross,  when  a  thought  came  suddenly 
into  Diamond's  mind,  and  quickly  darting  for- 
ward to  the  middle  of  the  bridge  he  went  to 
one  side  of  it,  and  deliberately  let  the  basket 
and  its  contents  fall  into  the  stream ;  then 
ran  for  home  as  fast  as  his  four  legs  could 
carry  him. 

'I  am  not  telling  you  this  because  I  think  he 
did  right,  but  that  you  may  see  that  others  are 
treated  as  badly  as  you  have  been. 

I  suppose  I  am  sorry  that  a  relative  of  mine 
ever  resorted  to  revenge ;  but  it  does  sometimes 
seem  very  strange  to  me  that  more  dogs  do  not 
revenge  themselves  in  some  way  for  the  hard 
treatment  they  so  often  receive. 

You  would  not  like  to  be  guilty  of  such  an 
act  as  that? 

Well,  I  am  glad  of  it.  Indeed,  I  think  my 
kinsman  was  soon  sorry  for  what  he  had  done. 

Let  me  tell  you  how  he  proved  it.  His  mas- 
ter had  been  out  nearly  all  day  with  Diamond 
hunting.  The  next  morning  he  discovered  that 
he  had  somewhere  lost  a  key.  So  he  showed 
Diamond  another,  and  told  him  his  trouble,  and 
ordered  him  to  go  and  hunt  for  it. 

Off  he  went,  and  at  three  o'clock  that  after- 
noon returned,  bringing  the  lost  key. 

He  was  tired  and  hungry,  but  a  good  dinner 
was  ready  for  him,  and  kind  words  soon  made 
him  forget  his  fatigue. 

In  fact,  I  believe  both  master  and  dog  were 
ashamed  and  sorry  for  the  past,  and  inwardly 
determined  to  do  right  in  the  future. 

Now  after  these  true  stories  of  my  great- 
uncle,  I  hope  you  feel  better,  and  will  go  home, 
not  to  plan  how  you  can  be  revenged,  but  how 
you  can  be  true  and  faithful,  and,  if  possible, 
win  better  treatment  in  future.  R. 


BARNYARD   ILLUSIONS. 

Q1OMEBODY  in  one  of  our  exchanges  tells 
kI3  an  amusing  story  of  his  attempt  at  study- 
ing human  nature  in  the  barnyard.  He  placed 
a  large  piece  of  looking-glass  against  the  trunk 
of  a  tree,  and  scattered  corn  in  front  of  it,  then 
took  a  convenient  position  and  watched.  Some 
of  the  hens  came  up  with  cautious  tread,  to 
meet  what  they  supposed  were  new  acquaint- 
ances, and  were  simply  astonished  and  bewil- 
dered by  the  result.  Others  pecked  at  the 
glass,  and  were  anxious  to  get  up  a  fight  with 
the  supposed  intruders. 

The  high-stepping  rooster  was  bent  on  a  vic- 
tory. He  advanced  with  skillful  side  steps, 
according  to  rooster  fashion,  and  was  amazed 
to  lose  sight  of  his  enemy.  Of  course  he  had 
stepped  too  far  to  the  left  or  right,  and  so 
gotten  out  of  range  of  the  glass,  but  this  he 
did  not  understand.  He  gave  an  astonished 
crow,  looked  about  him  fiercely,  saw  no  one, 
finally  gave  up  and  went  back  for  a  kernel  of 
corn ;  behold,  just  in  front  of  it  was  that  other 
rooster,  looking  fierce.  He  made  another  at- 
tempt for  a  fight,  with  exactly  the  same  result 
as  before ;  but  the  second  surrender  to  mystery 
brought  him  quite  near  to  the  mirror  and  his 
enemy.  He  ruffled  his  feathers,  so  did  the 
other  rooster.  He  made  a  dash  forward,  so 
did  the  other,  and  —  the  rooster  was  astonished ; 
but  you  are  prepared  to  hear  that  the  mirror 
was  broken  into  bits.  The  question  which 
seemed  to  puzzle  that  rooster  for  hours  after- 
wards was,  What  became  of  his  enemy,  that  he 
could  not  find  even  a  feather  of  him  lying  about 
the  yard? 


OF  the  four  hundred  and  thirteen  species  of 
trees  in  the  United  States  sixteen  will  sink  in 
w?ter.  The  heaviest  is  the  black-iron  wood  of 
Southern  California. 


A  GOOD  man  in  France  is  said  to  have 
invented  an  instrument  with  a  very  fine 
tube  to  be  inserted  into  the  ear,  by  means  of 
which  sounds  can  be  heard  by  the  deaf. 

Professor  Dussouchet  saw  the  experiment 
tried  upon  many  deaf  mutes,  and  in  every  case 
with  success.  Sounds  are  sent  into  a  large 
bell-shaped  contrivance ;  thence  they  pass  down 
the  fine  tube  and  strike  the  tympanum  (ear 
drum) .  L. 


A     SONG    FROM     THE     HEART, 


A  SONG  FBOM  THE   HEART. 


p       y 


I    NEED    A    CHRISTMAS    DINNER. 


THE     BOYHOOD     OF    TITIAN. 


THE   BOYHOOD   OF   TITIAN  (Tish'-yan). 
Poeta  nascitur,  nonfit. 

npHERE,  that  is  not  Greek  or  German,  but 

JL      Latin,  and  some  day  your  Pansy  tongue 

will  talk  it  off  as  readily,  no  doubt,  as  it  now 


STUDYING    ITS   CHARACTER. 

casts  English  to  your  cat.  Won't  it  be  just 
splendid  for  you  to  be  in  the  High  School  — 
and  not  at  the  foot  of  your  class,  either 
—  reading  Caesar  or  Cicero  or  Horace? 


' '  But  what  does  that  Latin  mean  ?  " 
It  means,  "  A  poet  is  born,  not  made." 
"So  is  every  one  '  born.'  " 
No,  not  born  a  poet,  neither  can  be  made 
into  a  poet  by  study ;  that  is,  a  real  true  poet. 
Almost  everybody  can  read  poetry,  and  love  it 
and  make  rhymes ;  but  that  is  not  being  a  poet. 
You  might  just  as  well  now  learn  that 
bit  of  Latin  and  surprise  your  mamma 
some  day  at  the  dinner-table  by  saying : 
"  Poeta   nascitur,   non  fit."     The   next 
time   you  can   say:    "Orator  nascitur, 
non  fit,"  for  that  is  true  too.     It  is  true 
of  an   artist,   and  many,  many  others. 
We  all  have  different  gifts  at  birth.    (See 
Rom.  xii.  6.)     Johnny  Brown  can  sing 
and  play  upon  almost  any  instrument. 
He  is    a  born   musician.     His   brother 
can't  play  even  upon  a  jew's-harp,  but 
he  can  make  one.     He  can  make  a  watch. 
His  fingers  can  do  all  sorts  of  wonderful 
things  such  as  Johnny's  cannot.     Boys 
differ ;  girls  differ.     They  can't  be  made 
alike.     One  has  one  gift,  one  another. 
Titian  was  born  an  artist. 
What   do   you  suppose    he   is   doing 
there,  one  hand  upon  the  limb  of  that 
tree? 

"  Going  up  for  chestnuts." 
No ;  try  again. 

"  Going  to  climb  for  a  crow's  nest." 
Not  he.     See  that  bit  of  a  branch  in 
his  right  hand.     He  is  looking  at  it  to 
see  its  shape,  the  form  and  color  of  the 
leaves,  and  all  about  it.     He  will  paint 
that  whole  tree  in  a  little  while  —  no,  no ; 
paint  one  on  canvas  just  like  it.     When 
he  is    a   few  years  older  he  will  paint 
portraits,  then  great  elegant  pictures. 
He  was  an  Italian  boy,  born  in  1477. 
Columbus  was  then  about  thirty-five 
years  old.     He  had  just  made  his  great 
voyage  to  Iceland  and  got   back  when 
•"*"      Titian  was  a  baby.     I  guess  Titian  saw 
the  born  voyager   and  discoverer,  and 
as  likely  as  not  painted  his  portrait  or  ships. 
But  one  of  his  masterpieces,  or  greatest  works, 
is  St.  Peter,  Martyr;  another,  The  Presenta- 
tion of  the  Virgin.  L. 


HANNIBAL'S     VOW.— THE     WAR     OF     THE     ROSES. 


HANNIBAL'S    VOW. 

ANY  hundred  years  ago  there 
were  two  magnificent  cities  on 
opposite  sides  of  the  Mediter- 
ranean Sea.  One  was  Car- 
thage and  the  other  was  Rome. 
But  they  were  jealous  of  each 
other,  and  shook  their  fists  at  each  other  and 
went  to  war,  each  trying  to  do  the  other  all  the 
harm  if  was  possible. 

In  Carthage  was  a  man  by  the  name  of  Han- 
nibal. He  hated  Rome  bitterly. 

A  little  before  his  death  he  took  his  son  out 
to  the  altar,  where  they  burned  sacrifice  to  the 
gods,  and  made  him  lift  up  his  hands  in  a  vow 
or  promise  to  always  hate  and  harm  the  Romans. 
It  was  an  awful  thing  for  any  one  to  do,  but 
how  dreadful  for  a  dying  man.  So  young 
Hannibal  swore  by  the  gods,  Jupiter,  Juno, 
Apollo,  Hercules,  Mars,  Triton  and  Neptune, 
and  all  the  other  Daemons. 

The  old  man  died.  When  young  Hannibal 
was  now  twenty-four  he  was  made  commander 
of  the  troops,  and,  dressed  in  a  coat  of  armor, 
he  started  from  Carthage  with  a  mighty  army. 
Away  he  marched  toward  Spain,  conquering 
and  slaying  his  enemies  on  the  way.  On  and 
on  he  went,  over  rivers  and  highest  mountains. 
The  Romans,  when  they  heard  that  he  was  in 
Spain,  laughed  at  the  thought  of  his  coming  to 
Rome ;  they  said  none  but  gods  could  do  such 
a  thing.  But  they  had  not  long  to  laugh.  He 
and  his  conquering  host  clambered  over  the 
Pyrenees,  then  over  the  high  steep  Alps,  then 
4 'down  upon  the  soft  and  smiling  plains  of 
Italy."  Then  all  was  excitement  in  great 
Rome.  Every  one  became  a  soldier  of  some 
sort.  "To  arms!  to  arms!"  was  the  cry. 
The  city  was  turned  into  a  fort.  Mighty 
armies  went  out  to  meet  Hannibal,  but  one 
after  another  was  slaughtered  or  put  to  flight. 
In  one  of  the  great  battles  forty  thousand 
Romans  were  slain ! 

The  Roman  general,  Fabius,  was  a  great 
man,  but  he  was  compelled  to  retreat  before 
Hannibal.  But  just  then,  when  the  people  in 
the  great  city  were  trembling  lest  Hannibal 
would  be  upon  them  to  burn  the  whole  city 


and  put  the  inhabitants  to  death,  word  came 
from  Carthage  that  he  must  hurry  home  with 
his  army  and  save  Carthage  from  a  Roman 
army  coming  upon  it,  led  by  a  wonderful  gen- 
eral, Scipio.  Soon  these  two  conquering  hosts 
met  at  Zama,  not  far  from  Carthage,  and  here 
for  the  first  time  poor  Hannibal  was  defeated, 
and  in  the  course  of  time  proud  Carthage  was 
utterly  destioyed.  L. 


THE   WAR   OF   THE   ROSES. 

IVE  hundred  years  ago  began 
very  troublous  times  in  Eng- 
land, and  it  went  on  many 
bloody  years.  You  see,  there 
were  two  great  parties,  as  in 
this  country,  each  struggling 
to  rule.  In  this  country  they  fight  it  out  at 
the  ballot  box,  with  bits  of  paper  upon  which 
names  are  printed.  The  man  or  party  which 
gets  the  greater  number  of  ballots  rules.  In 
England  years  ago  they  fought  it  out  with 
blows.  The  party  which  could  strike  the 
harder  blows  ruled. 

The  names  of  these  two  great  parties  were 
York  and  Lancaster.  The  Yorkers  wore  the 
white  rose,  the  Lancastrians  the  red  rose,  so  it 
was  called  the  War  of  the  Roses.  Oh !  the 
fierce  battles,  the  groans  of  the  dying  and  the 
banners  rolled  in  blood;  neighbors,  sometimes 
brothers,  killing  each  other. 

And  their  homes,  the  mothers  and  children, 
what  happened  to  them  during  all  those  hun- 
dred years?  You  must  not  know.  But  what 
must  the  Lord  Jesus  have  thought  of  it  all? 

If  it  had  been  for  some  great  good  —  to  put 
an  end  to  stealing,  cruelty,  drunkenness  or 
some  such  dreadful  thing  —  it  would  not  seem 
so  bad ;  but  it  was  just  to  get  upon  a  throne 
and  then  to  be  cruel  to  the  defeated  party. 
The  great  trouble  was  that  this  man  or  that 
wanted  to  be  king  just  as  in  America  a  man 
wants  to  be  president.  Richard  the  Third 
wanted  it  so  much  that  he  caused  his  two  little 
nephews  to  be  smothered  to  death  while  asleep, 
lest  they  would  grow  up  and  trouble  him  !  This 
was  four  hundred  years  ago.  L. 


BABY'S     CORNER. 


THE  NAUOHTY   ROOSTER. 


BABY'S   CORNER. 

COME    TO    SUPPER. 

ONE  pleasant  sum- 
mer day  Jamie's 
mamma  said  they 
would  have  tea  out 
under  the  trees,  be- 
cause it  was  papa's 
birthday. 

She  spread  a  pink 
cloth   on    the    table, 
and  brought  out  some 
pretty  dishes.     Jamie  thought  it  was  fine  fun. 
He  helped  to  carry  out  the  biscuits  and  straw- 
berries, and  he  put  the  knives  and  spoons  by 
the  side  of  the  plates. 

They  had  to  hurry,  because  pretty  soon  the 
five  o'clock  train  would  come  in,  and  papa 
would  be  on  it. 

When  mamma  went  into  the  house  to  make 
the  tea  she  gave  Jamie  a  piece  of  cake  and  told 
him  to  sit  down  on  the  grass  and  rest  his  tired 
little  feet. 

Jamie  liked  to  sit  in  that  pretty  spot.  There 
were  green  grass  and  daisies  and  buttercups  all 
about  him,  and  oh !  how  good  the  cake  tasted. 
Pretty  soon  the  old  rooster  saw  that  Jamie 
was  alone,  and  that  he  had  something  good  to 
eat. 

So  he  called  to  his  family:  "Come  quick! 
come  to  supper." 

Then  the  gray  hen  and  the  yellow  hen  and 
the  speckled  hen  and  the  white  banties  came 
running  as  fast  as  they  could  run  to  get  some 
of  Jamie's  cake. 

Old  Speckle  got  the  first  bite,  a  great  big 
one,  and  carried  it  off  to  eat  it.  Then  Old 
Yellow  came  up  one  side  and  the  rooster  came 
the  other  side,  and  one  took  a  bite,  and  the 
other  took  a  bite. 


Jamie  began  to  cry.     Mamma  heard   him. 
She  came  out,  and  said :   "  Shoo !  shoo !  " 
And  away  went  the  chickabiddies  as  fast  as 


JAMIE   BEGAN   TO   CRY. 


they  could  fly,  and  no  more  supper  for  them 
that  night. 

MRS.  C.  M.  LIVINGSTON. 


OUT  in  the  garden,  wee  Elsie 
Was  gathering  flowers  for  me  ; 
"  O,  mamma!  "  she  cried,  "hurry,  hurry, 

Here's  something  I  want  you  to  see." 
I  went  to  the  window ;   before  her 

A  velvet-winged  butterfly  flew, 
And  the  pansies  themselves  were  not  brighter 

Than  the  beautiful  creature  iu  hue. 
"  Oh !  isn't  it  pretty?  "  cried  Elsie, 

With  eager  and  wondering  eyes, 
As  she  watched  it  soar  lazily  upward 

Against  the  soft  blue  of  the  skies. 
"  I  know  what  it  is,  don't  you,  mamma?" 

Oh !  the  wisdom  of  these  little  things 
When  the  soul  of  a  poet  is  in  them. 

"  It's  a  pansy  —  a  pansy  with  wings." 

—  Selected. 


THE  HAKD  TEX  T  .  —  IN  ASMU  CH  . 


THE  HARD  TEXT. 

(Matt.  xiii.  12.) 

NO,  it  does  not  seem  fair  at  all  to  give  to 
him  that  has  something,  and  to  refuse 
it  to  one  that  hasn't  anything  scarcely,  and 
even  to  take  away  what  little  that  one  has ! 
Just  think  of  giving  a  rich  Pansy  five  hundred 
dollars  more,  and  then  snatching  away  the  last 
penny  from  a  poor  Pansy ! 

Surely  you  don't  suppose  the  loving,  gentle, 
merciful  Lord  Jesus  meant  any  such  thing? 
Of  course  he  didn't. 

' '  What  did  He  mean  ?  "  Why,  simply  this, 
my  dear ;  that  one  who  makes  good  use  of  his 
gifts  will  have  more  gifts.  He  will  grow  wiser 
and  better,  and  go  up  higher  all  the  time,  just 
like  a  tree  that  uses  well  the  good  ground  and 
good  air  and  good  dew  around  it.  And  the 
tree,  that  for  some  reason  won't  send  its  roots 
down  and  this  way  and  that  and  set  every  one 
of  its  leaves  to  breathing,  such  a  lazy  tree  will 
lose  all  its  life  and  die,  the  first  wide-awake 
tree  sucking  up  that  very  life. 

It  may  be  just  so  with  two  Pansies.  One  is 
good,  true,  active,  the  other  one  isn't;  how 
one  will  go  up  and  the  other  down ;  how  one 
will  increase  and  the  other  decrease  until  one 
seems  to  have  all  the  good,  even  the  little  the 
other  started  out  with. 

You  borrow  from  a  bank  one  hundred  dollars 
and  pay  it  back  with  interest  when  your  note  is 
due,  and  quite  likely  the  bank  will  loan  you 
two  hundred  dollars  then,  if  you  want  it,  and 
so  on,  increasing  it  just  as  you  are  faithful. 
But  if  you  don't  pay  as  you  promised,  because 
you  were  lazy,  your  one  hundred  dollars  wJl  I^e 
taken  from  you  and  loaned  to  one  who  n.-iy 
have  .ten  thousand  dollars,  because  he  makes 
good  use  of  it.  We  are  all  on  trial.  How 
happy  we  should  be  to  be  trusted  by  the  Lord ! 
It's  a  fearful  thing  when  he  will  not  loan  us 
any  more.  L. 


GOOD  temper,  like  a  sunny  day,  sheds  brig  'it- 
ness  over  everything.  It  is  the  sweetener  of 
toil  and  the  soother  of  disquietude. 


INASMUCH. 

IF  I  had  dwelt"  —  so  mused  a  tender  woman, 
All  fine  emotions  stirred 
Through  pondering  o'er  that  Life,  divine  yet 

human, 
Told  in  the  sacred  Word  — 

"  If  I  had  dwelt  of  old,  a  Jewish  maiden, 

In  some  Judean  street, 

Where  Jesus  walked,   and  heard  his  word  so- 
laden 

With  comfort  strangely  sweet, 

"And  seen  the  face  where  utmost  pity  blended,. 

With  each  rebuke  of  wrong ; 
I  would  have  left  my  lattice  and  descended, 

And  followed  with  the  throng. 

"  If  I  had  been  the  daughter,  jewel-girdled, 

Of  some  rich  rabbi  there  ; 

Seeing   the   sick,    blind,    halt,   my   blood   had 
curdled 

At  the  sight  of  such  despair. 

' '  And  I  had  wrenched  the  sapphires  from  my 
fillet, 

Nor  let  one  spark  remain ; 
Snatched  up  my  gold,  amid  the  crowd  to  spill  it,. 

For  pity  of  their  pain. 

' '  I  would  have  let  the  palsied  fingers  hold  me ; 

I  would  have  walked  between 
The  Marys  and  Salome,  while  they  told  me 

Abo?it  the  Magdalene. 

"  'Foxes  have  holes'  —  I  think  my  v.eart  had 

broken 

To  hear  the  words  so  said, 
While    Christ    had    not  —  were    sadder    ever 

spoken  ?  — 
A  place  to  lay  his  head.' 

would  have  flung  abroad  my  doors  before 

Him, 

*.  nd  in  my  joy  have  been 
First  on  the  threshold,  eager  to  adore  Him, 
And  crave  his  entrance  in  !  " 


FROM     BIRDLAND. 


Ah,  would  you  so?     Without  a  recognition 

You  passed  Him  yesterday ; 
Jostled  aside,  unhelped  his  mute  petition, 

And  calmly  went  your  way. 

With  warmth  and  comfort  garmented  and  girdled, 

Before  your  window-sill 

Sweep  heart-sick  crowds ;   and  if  your  blood  is 
curdled 

You  wear  your  jewels  still. 

You  catch  aside  your  robes,  lest  want  should 
clutch  them 

In  its  imploring  wild  ; 
Or  else  some  woful  penitent  might  touch  them, 

And  you  be  thus  defiled. 

O,  dreamers!  dreaming  that  your  faith  is  keeping 

All  service  free  from  blot, 
Christ  daily  walks  your  streets,  sick,  suffering, 

weeping, 
And  ye  perceive  him  not ! 

M.  J.  PRESTON,  in  The  Independent. 


I  READ  of  a  boy  who  had  a  remarkable 
dream.  He  thought  that  the  richest  man 
in  town  came  to  him  and  said :  "I  am  tired  of 
my  house  and  grounds ;  come  and  take  care  of 
them  and  I  will  give  them  to  you."  Then  came 
an  honored  judge  and  said:  "I  want  you  to 
take  my  place ;  I  am  weary  of  being  in  court 
•day  after  day ;  I  will  give  you  my  seat  on  the 
bench  if  you  will  do  my  work." 

Then  the  doctor  proposed  that  he  take  his 
extensive  practice  and  let  him  rest,  and  so  on. 
At  last  up  shambled  old  Tommy,  and  said : 
"  I'm  wanted  to  fill  a  drunkard's  grave ;  I  have 
«ome  to  see  if  you  will  take  my  place  in  these 
saloons  and  on  these  streets?  " 

Harold  laughed  about  his  dream,  but  some- 
body who  knew  how  Harold  was  being  brought 
up,  said  :  "  Do  you  know,  I  shouldn't  be  surprised 
if  of  all  the  offers  he  accepted  the  last?  He 
has  talent  enough  to  become  a  judge,  or  a  phy- 
sician, or  to  make  his  fortune,  but  I  am  afraid 
he  will  grow  up  to  take  old  Tommy's  place." 

Who  is  willing  to  help  fill  "  Old  Tommy's" 
place  ? 


FROM   BIRDLAND. 

IF  we  only  knew  how 
to  understand  bird 
language,  I  fancy  we 
might  be  made  ac- 
quainted with  a  great 
many  pretty  secrets 
which  now  they  keep 
to  themselves. 

I  have  been  reading 
lately  about  a  gentle- 
man in  New  York  who 
has  a  collection  of  birds, 
and  who  makes  a  study 
of  those  who  flit  about 
his  home  in  summer. 
At  one  time  he  had  a 
blind  sparrow  among  his  collection,  and  a  little 
bird  named  Dick  seemed  to  have  adopted  it. 
He  waited  at  the  door  of  its  house  for  it  to 
come  out,  calling  it  with  tender  little  chirps, 
and  when  tne  blind  one  finally  appeared  he 
would  lead  the  way  to  the  seeds  and  water. 

When  his  friend  was  ready  to  return  home 
to  rest  Dick  would  shove  him  gently  along  the 
perch  until  he  was  opposite  his  own  door,  then 
give  a  chirp  which  seemed  to  say:  "There  you 
are,  jump  in,"  and  in  would  spring  the  little 
sparrow,  safe  at  home.  Surely  Dick  ought  to 
be  elected  as  at  least  an  honorary  member  of 
the  "Helping  Hand  Society."  What  if  he 
hasn't  any  hands  ?  He  succeeds  in  being  a  very 
efficient  helper.  EFIL  SREDNOW. 


THERE  are  a  few  who  make  their  life  fc ;  a 
song," 
A  silvery  call  to  urge  tired  souls  along, 

A  clear  bell  o'er  the  cope 
Of  the  steep  mountain  they  have  had  to  climb 
With  such  a  patience,  they  have  made  sublime 

The  soul's  forlornest  hope. 
And  when  these  dear  ones  hidden  pass  adown 
"The  other  side,"  beyond  the  mountain's  crown, 

The  silvery  tinkling  vein 
Of  gladness  comes  aback  to  touch  us  so  — 
New  courage  in  our  sinking  heart  doth  grow, 

We  urge  us  on  again.  —  Selected. 


AN     OLD     QUACK. 


AN   OLD   QUACK. 


ANGIE'S     CROSS. 


ANGLE'S   CROSS.— I. 

{Character  Studies.) 

VERYBODY  said  Angle  Conran 
had  a  "perfectly  lovely  voice," 
extremely  well  cultivated  for 
one  so  young.  Her  music 
teacher  was  in  the  habit  of 
patting  her  hand  in  a  patroniz- 
ing way,  at  the  close  of  almost  every  lesson, 
and  saying,  in  broken  French:  "  Mees  Angie, 
you  will  make  what  you  Americans  call  a  mark 
in  the  world ;  remember  I  tell  you." 

Angie  was  a  member  of  the  choir,  and  a 
very  faithful  one;  a  member  of  the  "Choral 
Club,"  and  practiced  early  and  late  to  help 
make  it  a  success.  On  the  particular  evening 
of  which  I  wish  to  tell  you  she  was  seated  at 
the  piano,  giving  a  last  half-hour  of  practice  to 
the  anthem  before  she  went  to  rehearsal.  Her 
mother  and  I  sat  in  the  back  pai'lor,  where  we 
could  have  the  full  benefit  of  the  music.  How 
the  exquisite  melody  filled  the  room,  and  how 
distinctly  was  every  word  spoken. 

"  Nearer,  my  God,  to  thee, 

Nearer  to  thee, 
E'en  though  it  be  a  cross 

That  raiseth  me; 
Still  all  my  song  shall  be, 
Nearer,  my  God,  to  thee, 

Nearer  to  thee ! " 

"That  is  as  good  as  a  recitation,"  I  said. 
•'  How  very  distinctly  Angle  speaks  her  words." 

"Yes,"  said  the  proud  mother;  "she  prides 
herself  01  being  heard.  She  says  she  would 
never  hp.ve  any  pleasure  in  singing  Italian 
songs ;  that  slie  would  want  the  words  as  well 
as  the  music  to  be  uplifting.  Angie  prefers 
sacred  music,  I  think ;  her  heart  seems  to  echo 
the  sentiment  of  the  words.  What  she  is  prac- 
ticing now  is  to  be  sung  to-morrow  morning, 
just  before  the  sermon.  Our  pastor  requested 
it.  This  is  a  new  arrangement,  with  solo  and 
quartette,  and  Angie  takes  the  solo.  If  the  other 
parts  are  as  beautiful  as  the  soprano,  I  think  it 
will  be  lovely.  Angie  dear,  isn't  it  time  you 
were  going  ?  " 

">u  a  minute,  mamma;  I  want  to  try  this 


minor  strain  first."     The  sweet,  tender  sounds 
filled  the  room : 

"  Though  like  a  wanderer, 

Daylight  all  gone, 
Darkness  be  over  me, 

My  rest  a  stone." 

"Isn't  that  exquisite ? "  whispered  the  mother, 
when  the  last  notes  had  died  away.  Then,  in 
almost  the  same  breath,  "Angie  dear,  it  is 
beginning  to  rain  ;  are  you  prepared  for  rain  ?  " 

"  O,  dear,  how  provoking !  No,  ma'am,  I 
can't  say  I  am  in  the  least  prepared  for  it." 

The  mother  arose  and  moved  toward  the 
music-room.  "Why,  dear  child  !  "  she  said,  in 
surprise,  "  you  ought  not  to  have  that  dress  on 
to-night.  Even  if  it  were  not  a  rainy  evening 
it  is  not  suitable  to  wear  to  a  rehearsal." 

"Why  not,  pray?  ever  so  many  people  come 
to  the  rehearsals.  I  want  to  be  as  well  dressed 
as  I  am  on  Sunday." 

"  My  dear,  that  is  a  pretty  evening  dress, 
and  the  rain  will  spot  it,  you  know.  You 
would  have  to  wear  your  gossamer,  and  that 
would  crush  the  trimmings.  Besides,  it  doesn't 
look  at  all  suitable  for  this  evening.  If  you 
were  going  out  to  a  social  gathering  you  could 
not  dress  more  than  that.  Do  go  and  change 
it,  dear;  it  won't  take  you  long." 

"I  assure  you,  mamma,  it  is  quite  out  of 
the  question  that  I  should  change  my  dress 
now.  It  is  already  late  ;  you  just  said  I  ought 
to  be  going.  It  was  quite  a  work  of  art  to  get 
this  dress  on,  and  I  haven't  the  least  desire  to 
change  it ;  I  am  not  at  all  afraid  of  it." 

"But,  my  dear  child,  just  consider  how  un- 
suitable it  is.  Those  laces  at  the  neck  and 
wrists  are  real,  you  know,  and  as  fine  as  cob- 
webs ;  you  certainly  could  not  dress  more  than 
that  if  you  were  going  to  a  reception." 

"O,  mamma!  how  absurd.  As  though  any- 
body would  take  notice  of  me,  or  care  whether 
my  laces  were  real  or  not.  They  fit  the  dress, 
any  way,  and  as  long  as  I  don't  object  to  them 
I  don't  see  why  anybody  else  should." 

"My  daughter,  your  mother  objects  to  them. 
Moreover,  the  dress  is  lower  in  the  neck  than 
you  have  been  wearing  all  day,  and  it  is  quite 
a  cool  evening ;  that  in  itself  should  be  suffi- 


ANGIE'S    CROSS. 


cient  to  make  you  change  it.  I  really  must  in- 
sist on  your  putting  on  a  more  proper  dress." 

Angle's  pretty  fingers  came  down  upon  the 
keys  with  a  crash  which  made  me  start  in  my 
chair ;  then  she  whirled  herself  about  on  the 
music-stool.  "Really,  mamma,"  she  said,  and 
the  voice  was  so  sharp  it  hardly  seemed  possi- 
ble that  it  could  be  the  same  which  had  filled 
the  room  with  melody,  "I  should  think  I  was 
old  enough  to  decide  what  dress  to  wear ;  I  am  al- 
most fifteen,  and  I  think  I  might  have  the  privi- 
legeof  choosing  my  own  clothes  once  inawhile." 

"Do  not  speak  in  that  tone,  dear,"  said  her 
mother  gently.  ' '  You  shall  have  a\l  the  privi- 
leges I  can  give  you ;  but  we  haven't  time  to 
discuss  it  now.  Run  and  slip  on  your  gray 
cashmere,  it  is  in  order ;  I  fixed  that  place  in 
the  sleeve  this  morning,  and  brushed  it  and  got 
it  all  ready  to  put  on." 

"  Mamma  Conran  !  that  old  gray  cashmere. 
As  if  I  would  go  out  in  it  to-night !  Why,  the 
Barnards  come  to  rehearsal,  and  the  Needhams, 
and  their  cousin  from  New  York.  The  idea  of 
rigging  up  in  that  old  thing  and  standing  out 
there  to  sing,  the  most  prominent  person  in  the 
choir.  I  just  can't  do  it !  If  I  can't  wear  the 
dress  I  have  on  I'm  not  going  at  all." 

' '  My  daughter,  don't  be  so  foolish ;  the  re- 
hearsal surely  doesn't  depend  upon  the  dress 
you  wear.  You  are  wasting  time ;  I  cannot 
think  of  letting  you  go  in  that  dress.  If  I  had 
noticed  it  before  I  should  have  called  your  at- 
tention to  it;  but  I  hadn't  the  least  idea  you 
would  think  of  putting  it  on.  The  gray  cash- 
mere is  entirely  suitable,  my  dear.  Your 
mother  has  not  lost  all  sense  of  propriety,  even 


though  she  is  older  than  fifteen.  You  must 
allow  yourself  to  be  guided  by  her.  I  would 
not  make  a  scene  if  I  were  you,  and  spoil  the 
beauty  of  the  music  you  have  given  us.  There 
is  ample  time  just  to  slip  on  another  dress. 
Run  along,  and  I  will  get  out  your  wraps  and 
have  them  ready  for  you  when  you  come  down." 

' '  Mamma,  I'm  not  going  to  do  it.  I  told 
you  if  I  had  to  wear  that  old  cashmere  dress 
I  shouldn't  go  out  of  the  house  to-night,  and  I 
meant  it.  Other  girls  can  wear  decent  dresses. 
Carrie  Wheeler  wears  a  white  silk  to  rehearsal 
often,  and  here  I  have  got  to  rig  up  like  an 
old  woman  and  sing  the  leading  part.  You 
don't  know  anything  about  it,  mamma ;  it  is  so 
long  since  you  were  a  girl  you  don't  realize 
how  girls  dress  now.  I  wouldn't  hurt  this  dress 
and  you  know  it.  It  is  just  too  mean  for  any- 
thing. You  always  spoil  my  pleasure." 

"  Angeline  !  "  —  the  mother's  gentle  voice 
was  growing  stern  at  last  —  "I  cannot  allow 
you  to  speak  to  your  mother  in  that  way. 
There  are  the  Wheeler  girls  coming  up  the 
walk  now,  to  call  for  you.  If  you  will  go  im- 
mediately and  change  your  dress  I  will  explain 
to  them  that  you  will  be  down  in  a  few  minutes." 

A  loud,  angry  cry  from  Aiigie,  a  sound  like 
that  from  a  naughty  child  who  had  lost  all  con- 
trol of  herself,  and  between  the  sobs  she  man- 
aged to  get  out:  "I  won't  go  a  single  step, 
and  you  can  tell  them  so ;  and  you  can  tell  them 
the  reason,  if  you  choose ;  then  they  will  un- 
derstand just  what  hard  times  I  have."  And 
with  another  jarring  crash  of  the  keys  the  angry 
girl  left  the  room,  slamming  the  door  after  her. 

MYRA  SPAFFORD. 


.  •       :          '    _; ..;;_;  _.   ._,__/,. .   ..       .; 


THE   SCHOOU-GIKL  OF   1830. 


THE   BLOSSOMVILLK    BAND. 


ELSIE'S     PLAN. 


ELSIE'S    PLAN.— II. 

(Something  for  Mamma.) 

'M  going  to  stop  its  raveling," 
said  Elsie  serenely.  "I'm  go- 
ing to  overcast  it,  as  mother 
does  dress  seams,  and  then 
line  it  with  Margaret's  dress 
skirt ;  that  is  real  strong,  and 
will  make  it  stand  up  beautifully." 

Sure  enough,  by  dint  of  patient,  painstaking 
effort,  a  circle  of  matting  measuring  nearly  a 
yard  around  was  cut  off,  the  raw  edges  ' '  over- 
cast "  with  a  large  needle  and  strong  linen 
thread,  then  the  dress  skirt  was  ripped  and 
carefully  smoothed.  A  journey  to  the  kitchen, 
where  Mrs.  Hobbs,  the  woman  who  washed  and 
ironed  on  the  same  day  for  this  fallen  family, 
was  at  work.  Elsie  hinted  that  it  would  save 
her  time  if  Irma  would  see  to  the  ironing,  but 
at  that  moment  Irma  was  in  the  depths  of  her 
book,  and  seemed  to  be  deaf.  Back  again  with 
her  ironed  skirt,  the  yard  of  matting  was  laid 
on  the  floor,  the  cloth  spread  over  it  and  neatly 
tacked  at  sides  and  ends ;  then  the  long  side 
seam  was  sewed,  amid  statements  from  Irma 
that  it  could  not  be  done,  because  whose  arms 
could  be  expected  to  reach  down  such  a  ridicu- 
lous cylinder  as  that  to  sew !  It  was  hard  work. 
Twice  Elsie  gave  up  with  a  sigh,  and  once  was 
on  the  point  of  going  to  Margaret  for  advice, 
but  the  strong  desire  to  do  the  work  herself 
held  her,  and  she  actually  did  accomplish  it ! 
To  stand  the  cylinder  on  one  end,  and  draw 
with  white  chalk  a  "  head  "  for  it,  and  then  an- 
other a  trifle  larger  for  a  cover,  was  compara- 
tively easy.  These  two  were  lined  by  cutting 
out  a  circle  of  cloth  three  inches  larger  than 
the  matting  circle,  running  a  strong  gathering 
string  around  the  edge,  and  drawing  it  up 
around  the  matting. 

""What  is  the  use  of  that?"  Irma  demanded ; 
and  upon  being  informed  that  it  was  for  strength 
and  also  to  give  something  substantial  to  sew 
to,  she  said,  with  a  little  sniff,  "  Such  a  lot  of 
trouble  for  what  will  only  be  an  ugly  bungle 
when  you  get  it  done." 

"It  will  be  a  bungle  that  will  hold  the  clothes 
nicely,"  Elsie  said  merrily. 


She  was  so  sure  now  of  succeeding  that  she 
could  afford  to  be  merry. 

The  small  patient  fingers  sewed  away,  and 
Irma,  watching,  grew  interested  in  spite  of  her- 
self. "You  are  not  making  a  true  round  for 
the  cover,"  she  presently  exclaimed.  "The 
thing  wiggles  in  and  out  so,  it  is  hard  to  make 
a  true  circle ;  you  ought  to  cut  a  paper  pattern 
first,  and  work  at  it  until  you  get  it  true,  then 
cut  the  matting  by  it.  Here,  I'll  make  a  pat- 
tern for  you ;  and  if  I  were  you  I  would  wire 
the  creature  around  the  top ;  that  would  make 
it  stay  in  place." 

"That  is  an  excellent  idea,"  Elsie  said,  " and 
I  know  just  where  there  is  a  bit  of  wire  that 
will  do;  I'll  run  and  get  it."  She  smothered  a 
wee  sigh  as  she  went ;  it  was  a  good  plan  to 
cut  a  pattern,  and  Irrna's  eye  for  cutting  was 
better  than  her  own,  but  she  had  wanted  to  do 
this  work  entirely  herself.  The  pattern  was 
troublesome,  but  at  last  a  fair  circle  was  made, 
an  edge  of  matting  four  inches  deep  sewed 
around  it,  the  whole  carefully  lined,  and  the 
thing  was  done. 

"It  really  looks  very  well,"  Irma  said,  "and 
will  do  to  stand  in  the  back  hall.  That  wire 
around  the  top  was  a 'good  scheme." 

"  Yes,"  said  Elsie  heartily,  "  it  was." 

Mrs.  Harding  gave  no  faint  praise  the  next 
morning  when  the  matting  "hamper,"  duly  ad- 
dressed and  wrapped,  stood  close  to  her  seat  at 
table.  She  examined  the  workmanship  most 
minutely,  declared  that  the  idea  was  original, 
and  the  completed  work  most  useful. 

"  You  have  no  idea  how  much  more  precious 
it  is  to  me  than  anything  bought  with  money 
could  possibly  be,"  she  said,  kissing  again  the 
rosy  cheeks  of  her  youngest  daughter,  while 
the  others  looked  on,  smiling.  Then  truthful 
Elsie  bethought  herself.  "Irma  helped  me," 
she  said  quickly;  "she  made  the  circle  true, 
and  planned  the  wire  for  the  top ;  it  would  not 
have  been  nearly  so  nice  without  her  help." 

"I  didn't  do  the  least  thing,  mother,  except 
to  cut  a  paper  pattern  for  her,  and  to  propose 
that  some  wire  be  sewed  around  the  top.  She 
had  it  nearly  done  before  I  said  a  word.  It  is 
all  nonsense  to  say  I  helped.  All  I  did  was  to 
give  a  little  advice." 


MAJOR'S     AUTOBIOGRAPHY. 


The  older  daughters  laughed  merrily,  for 
Irma  was  very  fond  of  giving  advice ;  but  Mrs. 
Harding  drew  Irma  to  her  side  and  kissed  her 
lovingly,  while  she  said :  ' '  There  spoke  my 
truthful  girl.  She  is  not  going  to  be  com- 
mended for  what  she  has  not  done." 

"Oh!  but,  mother,  she  did  truly  help,"  was 
Elsie's  eager  explanation. 

"Of  course  she  did,"  declared  Margaret;  "I 
have  seen  the  time  when  I  needed  a  little  good 
advice  more  than  any  other  kind  of  help." 

PANSY. 


MAJOR'S   AUTOBIOGRAPHY. 


AM  glad  you  do  not  get  tired 
of  my  talking  so  much  about 
myself,  and  what  I  have  seen 
and  heard.  It  shows  how  you 
have  been  brought  up,  so  far ; 
and  if  we  old  dogs  live  a  great 
deal  in  the  past  you  may  pick  up  a  little  wis- 
dom from  us,  after  all,  and  be  none  the  worse 
for  what  we  say,  if  you  only  learn  to  profit  by 
our  experiences  and  avoid  our  mistakes. 

You  want  to  hear  more?  Well,  let  me  see, 
what  shall  I  tell  you  about  this  time?  I  am 
reminded  by  the  talk  I  overheard  about  the 
family  going  to  the  seaside,  of  the  summer 
when  I  was  two  years  old.  I  spent  it  with  my 
old  master  at  a  place  on  the  New  Jersey  coast. 
There  did  not  seem  to  be  any  one  with  whom  I 
could  well  stay  at  home ;  besides,  my  young 
master's  little  girl  was  very  anxious  to  have  me 
go  with  them,  so  they  finally  agreed  to  it,  and 
were  not  sorry  afterwards. 

As  I  remember,  I  enjoyed  the  bathing  as  well 
as  any  of  the  party,  or  would  have  done  so  had 
I  not  been  anxious  all  the  time  about  little 
Lucy's  drowning.  When  those  big  waves  would 
roll  in,  it  seemed  to  me  they  meant  to  carry  my 
little  friend  out  of  my  sight  forever. 

The  summer  proved  to  be  one  which  we  could 
all  remember  without  trying.  For  the  first  few 
weeks  there  was  nothing  very  unusual  happened, 
and  some  seemed  to  think  it  was  going  to  be 


very  dull  and  monotonous.  But  it  "  is  a  long 
road  that  has  no  turn,"  and  a  "turn"  finally 
came  which  was  exciting  enough  for  all  of  us. 

The  old  settlers  near  the  beach  said  we  were 
to  have  a  storm  which  would  afford  us  a  chance 
for  a  vacation  in  our  bathing,  and  give  us  a 
sight  of  some  "big  seas,"  for  we  would  prob- 
ably see  the  Atlantic  in  one  of  his  angry  moods 
before  many  hours. 

We  felt  ready  for  the  change,  and  lay  down 
at  night  thinking  what  a  good  time  we  would 
have  the  next  day  looking  at  the  great  waves 
roll  in. 

I  knew  the  wind  was  blowing  pretty  fresh, 
but  had  such  a  protected  place  that  I  did  not 
know  how  the  storm  had  arisen  until  towards 
morning  I  heard  the  sound  of  a  big  gun.  It 
sounded  again  and  again,  and  then  there  was  a 
noise  in  the  house,  and  a  general  turn  out  and 
rush  for  the  beach.  Of  course  I  followed  the 
crowd,  and  soon  learned  what  was  the  matter. 
There  was  a  ship  in  distress,  and  being  driven 
upon  the  shore. 

The  men  were  there  with  the  life-saving  ap- 
paratus, and  soon  a  line  was  got  out  to  the 
ship,  and  they  were  running  a  kind  of  boat 
back  and  forth  upon  it,  bringing  the  passengers 
from  the  ship  to  the  shore. 

Well,  the  people  were  all  safely  landed,  but 
there  was  a  splendid  big  dog  on  that  ship,  and 
no  one  had  seemed  to  think  of  or  to  care  for 
him.  O,  yes  !  he  knew  how  to  swim,  but  that 
was  a  terribly  angry  water,  and  the  distance 
was  great,  and  they  said  there  was  an  ugly 
undertow.  That  means  that  water  which  has 
come  pouring  in  upon  the  shore  runs  back  on 
the  bottom  with  such  power  sometimes  as  to 
carry  anything  with  it  that  it  can  get  hold  of. 

Poor  Hercules  —  that  was  the  dog's  name  — - 
had  seen  himself  left  there  alone,  the  while  the 
great  waves  were  breaking  all  over  the  ship. 
If  the  poor  fellow  had  been  a  fool  he  might 
have  suffered  less,  for  he  would  have  thrown 
himself  into  the  water  at  once ;  but  as  it  was 
he  knew  the  danger.  Why,  we  could  hear  his 
howl  above  the  noise  of  the  breakers  !  and  some 
of  the  men  were  almost  wild  with  anxiety  to 
try  to  save  him.  I  suppose  none  of  them 
thought  the  poor  dog  would  know  enough  to 


MAJOR'S     AUTOBIOGRAPHY. 


get  into  that  little  car  which  had  brought  the 
people  to  the  shore ;  and  if  he  had  he  could 
not  have  shut  himself  in.  So  there  he  was. 
His  owner,  having  several  children  besides  his 
wife  and  the  nurse  to  look  after,  had  entirely 
forgotten  the  dog. 

Hercules  ran  up  and  down  the  deck  until 
there  finally  came  a  wave  much  bigger  than 
any  which  had  preceded  it,  and  he  was  washed 


HEKCULES. 


overboard.  Of  course  he  did  then  the  best  he 
could,  and  that  was  saying  a  great  deal,  for 
he  was  a  powerful  fellow ;  but  those  were  ter- 
rible waves,  and  what  could  anything  but  a  fish 
do  in  such  a  sea?  We  could  see  him  now  and 
then  upon  the  crest  of  a  wave,  and  then  he 
would  disappear.  Every  time  we  saw  him  he 
seemed  to  be  nearer  the  shore,  and  we  had  a 
little  hope  that  some  big  sea  would  throw  him 
near  enough  for  us  to  help  him. 

But  the  women  and  children  must  be  cared 
for,  so  the  people  were  eoon  gone,  only  a  few 
of  the  boarders  remaining  to  watch  the  sea, 


all  believing  the  four-footed  passenger  to  have 
been  drowned.  Looking  steadily,  I  thought  I 
caught  sight  of  the  fellow  once,  then  again,, 
and  much  nearer  the  shore.  Yes,  there  he 
was,  and  a  big  wave  landed  him  so  near  that 
his  body  actually  rolled  over  on  the  sand,  as 
the  waves  ran  back  to  their  home  again.  He 
was  too  weak  to  help  himself ;  but  I  ran  down, 
and  before  the  next  wave  came  seized  him  by 
the  back  of  the  neck  and  stopped  his 
rolling;  but  he  was  too  heavy  for  me  to-* 
drag  alone.  My  presence,  however,  seemed 
to  give  him  courage,  and  he  got  upon  his- 
feet  again ;  then  came  another  wave  and 
covered  us  both.  This  did  not  prove  to 
be  so  heavy  as  most  of  them,  and  the  men 
came  to  our  assistance,  so  brave  Hercules 
was  saved. 

Those  who  had  remained  to  see  this, 
part  of  the  scene  sent  up  a  rousing  shout, 
and  both  of  us  were  petted  at  a  great  rate. 
I  have  never  seen  many  happier  mo- 
ments in  my  long  life  than  those  which 
followed  for  a  little  while.  I  was  so  glad 
to  see  this  stranger  safe,  and  glad  that 
I  had  been  able  to  help  save  him ! 

He  understood  it  all,  too,  though  he  did 
not  understand  English  very  well.  I  need 
not  tell  you  that  we  were  together  that 
summer  all  we  could  be.  The  man  who 
owned  the  dog  had  gone  off  and  left  him, 
and  my  master  said  that  Hercules  belonged 
to  him  more  than  to  any  one  else,  because 
I  had  been  the  means  of  saving  his  life. 

But  after  a  while  the  dog's  master  came 
down  there  from  New  York  to  look  after 
the  wreck,  and  see  if  he  could  not  find  anything 
of  value  washed  ashore  which  belonged  to  him. 
The  place  proved  so  pleasant  that  he  sent  for 
his  family  to  come  and  spend  a  few  weeks. 
They  had  experienced  such  a  fright  from  the 
ocean  the  day  of  the  wreck  that  at  first  they 
were  very  shy  of  the  water,  but  it  was  not 
long  before  they  were  in  with  the  others,  en- 
joying the  bathing. 

This  lasted  for  some  time,  and  the  children 
became  very  careless,  venturing  out  where  they 
ought  not.  My  new  friend  and  his  master  had 
not  met  since  the  day  of  the  storm,  as  they 


ABOUT     CHICAGO. 


were  bathing  at  another  part  of  the  beach. 
For  some  reason  my  master  decided  not  to  go 
into  the  water  one  day,  and  we  took  a  stroll 
along  the  beach  to  where  those  people  were 
bathing.  We  had  hardly  reached  the  place, 
and  my  master  seated  himself  in  a  comfortable 
position  to  watch  the  bathers,  when  Hercules 
gave  a  loud  bark,  as  much  as  to  say  "Come," 
and  bounded  into  the  breakers.  Of  course  I 
followed  fast  after  him,  on,  on,  out  into  the 
sea ;  and  he  had  his  master's  little  Gretchen  by 
the  back  of  her  bathing-suit  and  was  starting 
for  the  shore.  It  was  a  hard  struggle  ;  it  was 
all  both  of  us  could  do  to  save  her. 

The  poor  child  was  almost  gone  when  we  got 
to  her,  for  no  one  had  noticed  her  trouble  and 
•danger  except  Hercules. 

Well,  there  was  a  scetoe  on  the  shore  again, 
and  for  a  time  one  could  hardly  tell  which  the 
father  was  most  rejoiced  over,  the  saving  of 
his  child,  or  the  sight  of  the  dog  who  had  saved 
her  life. 

Yes,  we  had  a  good  time  the  rest  of  the  sum- 
mer,   and  then  we    had   to  part;    for  of 
course  the  man  had  his  dog  back  again. 

How  I  have  wished  I  might  see  the 
brave  fellow  once  more.  I  think  he  will 
never  be  forsaken  again. 

They  went  away  from  the  coast  a  little 
earlier  than  we  did.  The  children  all  bade 
me  good-by,  and  Hercules'  master  invited 
me  to  go  with  them.  We  had  a  long 
visit  the  night  before  they  went,  and  both 
of  us  felt  very  sorry  to  part  company ; 
but  some  way  people  do  not  think  that 
we  dogs  have  much  heart,  or  ever  mourn 
for  absent  friends.  There,  excuse  that 
tear,  but  it  always  makes  me  feel  badly  to  talk 
of  Hercules,  and  that  delightful  summer  by 
the  sea.  R. 


ABOUT    CHICAGO. 

BY    THE    PANSIES. 

THINK  it  is  great  fun  to  go  to 
Chicago  on  a  visit,  and  then 
come  back  and  hear  about  it 
as  it  used  to  be.  My  grand- 
father went  there  in  1833.  He 
was  just  a  boy,  but  he  remem- 
bers lots  of  queer  things.  He  went  to  church 
in  a  kind  of  a  barn ;  the  front  part  was  the 
church,  and  there  was  a  curtain  in  the  middle, 
and  behind  it  the  minister  lived  —  slept,  you 
know,  and  ate,  and  everything.  Think  of  that 
for  Chicago !  There  was  a  school  kept  in  a 
little  room  on  Water  Street ;  the  woman  who 
taught  it  had  twenty  scholars.  The  mail  was 
brought  once  a  week  by  a  man  on  horseback, 
and  the  postmaster  had  a  row  of  old  boots 
nailed  up  on  the  wall  for  mail  boxes.  Grand- 
father says  the  place  had  begun  to  grow  real 
fast  when  he  went  there,  and  as  many  as  two 


•FLY-LEAF   WISDOM   FOUND  "IN   AN 
OLD   BOOK. 

READ  slowly,  pause  frequently, 
Think  seriously, 
Keep  cleanly,  return  daily, 
With  the  corners  of  the  leaves 
Not  turned  down. 


CHICAGO    IN   1820. 

hundred  frame  houses  were  built  within  a  short 
time.  He  was  there  when  they  voted  to  make 
it  a  regular  town,  with  officers  and  laws.  One 
law  was  that  pigs  must  not  run  in  the  streets, 
and  that  people  must  not  cut  holes  in  their  out- 
side walls  and  poke  stove-pipe  through  them. 
ROBERT  CIIAPPELL. 


THE  word  "Chicago"  used  to  be  spelled 
"  Chicagoux."  Some  people  think  it  was 
named  for  the  "  Cheagomeinan  River,"  which 
is  the  Indian  name  for  the  Chicago  River.  The 


ABOUT     CHICAGO. 


Indians  called  the  Mississippi  River  "  Chaca- 
qua,"  which -means  "divine  river,"  and  I  think 
they  worked  the  name  Chicago  out  of  all  these 
notions.  My  uncle  says  the  name  of  the  French 
fort  in  1688  was  Fort  Checagou.  I  like  to 
study  about  names,  and  find  what  they  mean, 
and  how  many  changes  they  have  had  before 
we  got  hold  of  them.  I  have  never  been  to 
Chicago,  but  I  expect  to  attend  the  Columbian 
Exposition.  If  you  will  wait  until  after  that  I 
will  tell  you  something  about  the  city.  It  is 
larger  than  it  used  to  be. 

THOMAS  L.  WOOD,  Jr. 


MY  father  knows  about  a  man  who  bought  a 
lot  in  Chicago  in  the  year  1832  for  one  hundred 
dollars,  and  sold  it  again  about  three  years 
afterwards  for  fifteen  thousand  dollars !  I 
think  that  tells  a  boy  better  than  anything  else 
could,  how  fast  the  town  grew  for  a  while.  Of 
course  it  was  a  nice  choice  lot,  in  what  suddenly 
became  the  business  part  of  the  town.  I  know 
I  should  like  to  have  been  its  first  owner. 

ROBERT  TOWNSEND. 


I  READ  about  how  Chicago  came  to  be  called 
the  "  Garden  City."  It  grew  out  of  hard  times. 
They  had  what  is  called  a  business  panic,  when 
everybody  owed  everybody  else,  and  could  not 
pay  them,  and  business  was  awfully  dull,  and 
people  thought  the  town  was  going  to  ruin. 
The  most  people  had  to  do  was  to  take  care  of 
their  grounds.  They  whitewashed  the  fences, 
cleaned  up  the  yards,  planted  fruits  and  vines, 
and  did  everything  they  could  think  of  to  make 
their  places  look  pretty.  I  suppose  they  hoped 
Bomebody  would  come  along  and  buy  them. 
And  that  is  the  way  they  got  the  name  of 
"Garden  City." 

ALICE  PETERSON. 


THE  people  who  lived  in  Chicago  about  the 
year  1843  certainly  could  not  have  had  so  high 
an  opinion  of  the  city  as  people  do  who  live 
there  now.  A  Mr.  Miltimore  built  a  school- 
house  on  Madison  Street  which  was  called 
"  Miltimore's  Folly,"  because  people  did  not 
believe  that  there  would  ever  be  children  enough 
in  the  town  to  fill  so  large  a  building.  The 


mayor  of  the  city  urged  the  Council  to  have  it 
turned  into  an  insane  asylum,  or  sold,  and  the 
money  from  it  used  to  build  and  care  for  a 
smaller  building,  suited  to  the  present  and 
future  needs  of  the  city!  I  don't  think  he 
could  have  been  a  very  bright  man,  because  in 
less  than  four  years  from  that  time  the  building 
was  not  only  crowded  with  scholars,  but  three 
others  had  to  be  opened  in  different  parts  of 
the  city. 

ROGER  SHERMANN. 


CHICAGO  is  a  great  place  for  manufactories. 
It  seems  to  me  as  though  almost  everything  was 
made  there.  I  know  they  make  brooms,  and 
bricks,  and  boilers,  and  hats  and  caps,  and 
saws,  and  scales,  and  nails,  and  paint,  and 
gloves,  and  carpets,  and  I  am  sure  I  don't 
know  what  else ;  I  guess  they  make  everything. 
Once  I  went  to  the  car-wheel  factory  where 
they  make  three  hundred  wheels  every  day.  It 
was  great  fun  to  see  the  men  work.  I  like  to 
see  things  made,  and  that  is  what  I  am  going 
to  do  when  I  am  a  man. 

ROBBIE  WILSON. 


[We  are  almost  certain  Robbie  means  that  when  he  is  a  man 
he  is  going  to  help  make  things;  not  merely  stand  still  and  see 
them  made.  Good  for  Robbie!  What  would  become  of  us  if 
all  the  people  who  are  hard  at  work  making  things  should 
grow  tired  of  their  work,  and  conclude  to  —  write  books,  for 
instance,  instead?  —  EDITORS.] 


WE  are  reading  in  school  about  the  Chicago 
fire,  which  was  in  1871.  I  think  it  is  perfectly 
dreadful  to  read  about  it.  Just  think !  it  all 
came  from  a  woman  milking  after  dark,  when 
she  ought  to  have  done  it  before,  I  suppose ; 
or  maybe  her  little  boy  ought  to  have  done  it 
for  her,  and  did  not  come  home  in  time  —  well, 
the  cow  kicked  her  lamp  over  and  set  the  hay 
in  the  barn  on  fire,  and  all  that  awful  ruin 
came ! 

I  think  that  woman  must  have  felt  dread- 
fully. As  for  the  cow,  I  don't  suppose  she 
cared  a  bit. 

LAURA  JONES. 


I  KNOW  a  man  who  was  in  Chicago  at  the 
time  of  the  fire,  and  he  paid  fifteen  dollars  for 


ABOUT    CHICAGO. 


PICTOHIAL  CHICAGO. 


ABOUT     CHICAGO.— THINGS     WHICH     SOME     PEOPLE     REGRET. 


a  hack  to  drive  him  half  a  mile !  He  says  a 
hundred  thousand  people  were  made  homeless 
that  night.  Folks  ran  through  the  streets  as 
if  they  were  crazy.  Everybody  was  trying  to 
carry  something  of  theirs  to  a  safe  place.  One 
woman  tried  to  save  her  sewing-machine ;  she 
dragged  it  through  the  streets  a  long  distance. 
One  man  walked  along  quietly,  carrying  an  ice- 
pitcher.  He  said  it  was  all  he  had  left  in  the 
world. 

The  poor  man  had  been  made  crazy  by  his 
losses,  and  did  not  know  what  he  was  about. 

THOMAS  JONES. 


WE  lived  in  Terre  Haute,  Ind.,  at  the  time 
of  the  great  Chicago  fire  —  at  least  my  folks 
did  —  and  my  father  says  that  on  Monday,  the 
ninth,  while  the  fire  was  still  burning,  a  train 
loaded  full  of  provisions  went  out  of  Terre 
Haute  for  them.  I  think  that  was  nice.  There 
is  a  boy  in  school  who  says  that  his  folks,  who 
lived  in  Pittsburg,  raised  a  hundred  thousand 
dollars  before  Wednesday  night,  and  sent  it  to 
the  Chicago  sufferers,  and  another  fellow  said 
that  was  nothing ;  that  his  uncle  in  Louisville 
raised  most  a  hundred  thousand  within  ten 
hours  after  the  fire  began !  He  talked  as 
though  his  uncle  did  it  all,  but  I  suppose  some 
others  helped. 

WlLLARD    J.    MOONEY. 


I  THINK  the  great  big  splendid  temperance 
temple  is  the  grandest  building  in  Chicago,  and 
I  helped  build  it.  I  gave  two  dollars  and  seven- 
teen cents  that  I  earned  myself,  for  it.  In  1893 
I  am  going  to  see  it,  and  some  other  things.  I 
think  you  ought  to  have  waited  until  after  the 
Columbian  Exposition  for  letters  about  Chicago. 
Then  we  could  have  told  lots  of  things. 

MAKY  CLARKSON. 


I  WENT  to  Chicago  with  my  grown-up  sisters 
when  the  Y.  P.  S.  C.  E.  had  its  big  meeting 
there.  We  stopped  at  the  Sherman  House. 
That  is  one  of  the  nicest  hotels  in  the  city.  At 
seven  o'clock  Sunday  morning  we  had  a  prayer 
meeting  in  the  billiard-room  ;  more  than  a  hun- 
dred young  ladies  and  gentlemen  spoke  at  that 
meeting  in  less  than  a  half-hour,  and  the  sing- 


ing was  lovely.  The  big  meetings  were  held 
in  Battery  D.  Ever  so  many  thousand  people 
were  there  all  the  time.  Some  of  the  speeches 
were  splendid.  Chicago  is  very  large.  My 
cousin  and  I  took  a  ride  on  a  street  car  as  far 
as  it  went,  then  got  out  and  took  another  line 
and  went  as  far  as  its  route,  just  to  see  the 
city.  They  have  very  tall  buildings.  I  went 
to  the  Herald  office ;  that  is  the  handsomest 
newspaper  building  in  the  world,  I  guess. 

LUCY  J.  HARTMANN. 


ONCE  I  went  to  the  church  where  Mr.  Moody 
used  to  preach.  I  heard  the  Rev.  Charles  Goss ; 
he  is  young.  I  liked  him.  I  went  to  a  splendid 
store,  but  I  don't  remember  where  it  was.  There 
was  a  newsboys'  dinner  given  while  we  were 
there,  and  I  went  to  look  at  the  boys  eating 
their  cake  and  cream.  There  were  hundreds 
of  them,  and  they  ate  fast  and  seemed  to 
like  it. 

A  great  many  benevolent  things  like  that 
are  done  in  Chicago,  but  I  think  they  need  a 
temperance  temple  ;  I  saw  lots  of  drunken  men, 
and  one  drunken  woman. 

ALICE  PETERS. 


[We  have  still  more,  about  incidents  which  happened  in 
Chicago  rather  than  about  the  city  itself,  but  we  have  already 
crowded  our  space.  If  the  Pansies  could  be  induced  to  get 
their  letters  in  earlier  they  would  stand  a  better  chance  of  be- 
ing selected  from. —  EDITORS.] 


THINGS  WHICH   SOME  PEOPLE 
REGRET. 

HOW  many  of  the  Pansies  have  heard  the 
"silver-tongued  orator"  lecture  on  his 
special  theme,  Temperance?  All  of  you  who 
have  will  be  sure  to  hear  him  again  at  the  first 
opportunity.  Those  of  you  who  have  not,  let 
me  urge  to  keep  on  the  watch  for  a  chance. 
Meantime, , listen  to  his  hint,  which  ought  to 
help  every  boy  who  reads  it  to  be  a  better 
educated  man. 


"  I  regret  that  the  many  hours  of  youth  I  gave  to  idle  pleas- 
ures were  not  used  in  storing  my  mind  with  useful  knowledge." 
Yours  truly, 

GEORGE  W.  BAIN. 


THE  LAPPS.  —  EDMUND  SPENSER. 


THE   LAPPS. 


EDMUND    SPENSER. 


RANGE  is  "  sunny."  It  loves 
shade-trees,  fans  and  foun- 
tains. Laplanders  must  need 
have  furs  and  fire  and  fat 
food.  Of  course  you  know 
why.  Those  Lapp  faces  would 
look  equally  well  as  Mr.  William's,  if  they  were 
to  exchange  dresses,  putting  a  Lapp  where  the 
Emperor  now  sits  so  loftily.  Give  the  Lapp 
the  very  same  chance,  and  maybe  he  would 
make  just  as  wise  a  ruler  of  Prussia.  People 
are  not  so  unlike,  after  all.  When  God  would 
raise  up  the  greatest  Prophet  that  ever  appeared 
on  the  earth,  he  found  him  in  the  despised 
Nazareth.  Maybe  he  is  nursing  a  little  child 


INTERESTING    FACES. 


of  one  of  these  Lapps  who  will  one  day  be  as 
great  as  young  Master  Wilhelm  of  Prussia. 

L. 


ALTHOUGH  the  printing  presses  at  Beirut  are 
working  night  and  day  they  cannot  supply  the 
demand  for  the  Arabic  Bible. 


{English  Literature  Papers.} 

UST  three  hundred  years  ago, 
and  just  one  hundred  years 
after  Columbus  discovered 
America  and  planted  his  flag 
on  San  Salvador,  there  stood 
in  the  middle  of  a  wide,  boggy 
Irish  plain  a  building  better  than  most  of  those 
anywhere  near  it,  called  Kilcolman  Castle.  It 
was  a  time  when  the  English  Government  was 
having  a  hard  time  to  keep  the  Irish  under  their 
control,  and  we  shall  see  after  a  while  how  the 
poor  people  of  the  castle  suffered  on  account  of 
this  fact.  But  there  lived  at  Kilcolman,  in 
those  days  from  1586  to  1598,  one  of  the  most 
celebrated  of  the  poets  about  whom  we  shall 
talk  in  our  English  Literature  Papers.  It  was 
Edmund  Spenser,  and  the  old  picture  of  him 
that  has  come  down  to  us  shows  him  to  be  a 
kind,  gentle  looking  man,  with  a  long  thin  nose 
and  a  high  forehead,  dressed  in  a  black  robe, 
and  with  a  great  lace  collar  coming  up  above 
his  ears,  which  must  have  been  very  uncomfort- 
able in  warm  weather. 

Spenser  was  born  in  a  part  of  London  called 
East  Smithfield,  right  under  the  shadow  of  the 
great  Tower ;  and  it  is  a  very  disagreeable  fact 
to  one  who  is  trying  to  write  about  him,  that 
we  know  almost  nothing  about  the  little  events 
of  his  life,  and  especially  of  his  boyhood. 
Three  hundred  years  ago,  you  know,  people 
did  not  take  notes  of  themselves  so  much  as 
we  do  nowadays,  or  as  they  did  even  in  the  last 
century ;  or  if  they  did  they  have  not  been  kept 
for  us.  Just  a  few  people  have  told  us  any- 
thing about  Edmund  Spenser,  and  the  proba- 
bility is  that  even  his  picture  is  not  any  better 
than  many  of  those  which  we  see  nowadays  in 
the  newspapers. 

One  of  the  few  things  which  we  find  about 
him  was  that  he  entered  one  of  the  colleges  at 
Cambridge  when  he  was  seventeen,  as  what 
was  then  called  a  "sizar."  These  sizars  were 
the  poorer  students,  who  had  to  work  for  their 
living  in  a  much  more  disagreeable  way  than 
any  students  do  now,  by  waiting  on  the  older 


EDMUND     SPENSER. 


and  richer  ones  at  their  meals  and  elsewhere, 
and  were  paid  by  their  tuition  in  the  college 
and  the  fragments  of  food  which  their  em- 
ployers left  for  them.  I  suppose  if  the  stu- 
dent on  whom  Edmund  Spenser  waited  could 
come  back  to  earth  for  a  little  while  he  would 
be  considerably  surprised  and  perplexed  to  find 
that  the  only  reason  why 
the  world  would  like  to 
know  more  about  him  would 
be  on  account  of  the  little 
sizar  whom  he  used  to  have 
at  Cambridge ! 

When  he  had  left  col- 
lege, in  which  we  find  that 
he  was  a  very  good  scholar, 
Spenser  taught  for  a  while 
in  the  northern  part  of  Eng- 
land, and  began  to  write 
the  first  poetry  which  made 
him  at  all  famous ;  it  was 
a  long  poem  in  twelve  parts, 
about  the  twelve  months  of 
the  year,  and  he  called 
it  at  first  "The  Poet's 
Year,"  and  afterward  the 
name  by  which  we  know  it, 
"The  Shepherd's  Calen- 
dar." It  was  a  very  pretty 
poem,  and  described  the 
scenery  and  the  country 
life  of  England  in  a  way 
that  made  all  good  English- 
men like  the  author.  So 
Spenser  fell  in  with  some 
good  friends,  and  was  in- 
troduced to  Queen  Eliza- 
beth. It  is  a  curious  thing 
that  in  those  days  the  best 
writers  did  not  depend  for  their  payment  upon 
the  number  of  books  which  were  sold,  or  what 
their  publishers  paid  them ;  but  it  was  the  cus- 
tom *f  the  king  or  queen,  whenever  an  es- 
pecially good  writer  appeared,  to  support  him 
at  the  royal  court  or  elsewhere,  in  return  for 
which  the  writer  served  his  sovereign  in  any 
way  he  could,  especially  by  paying  him  any 
number  of  compliments  in  his  writings.  It 
is  as  though  whenever  a  promising  young  author 


should  appear  in  New  York  or  Boston,  he 
should  find  a  Congressman  who  would  introduce 
him  to  the  President  at  Washington ;  and  if  he 
found  that  he  was  likely  to  be  a  pleasing  writer 
and  a  convenient  friend  to  have  near  him,  he 
should  invite  him  to  stay  in  the  city,  and 
should  see  that  he  had  all  the  money  he  needed. 


THE  AUTHOR  OF  THE  FAERY  QUEENE. 

But  we  shall  be  sorry  to  find  that  although 
Queen  Elizabeth  received  Spenser  very  pleas- 
antly, and  although  he  paid  her  any  number  of 
pretty  compliments  in  his  after  life,  she  never 
did  very  much  for  him.  The  first  piece  of  good 
fortune  which  seemed  to  come  to  him  was  when 
he  was  appointed  secretary  to  Lord  Grey  de 
Wilton,  who  was  the  Governor  of  Ireland. 
After  that  he  was  also  given  Kilcolman  Castle, 
which  we  spoke  of  at  the  beginning,  where  he 


EDMUND     SPENSER. 


spent  so  many  years.  We  shall  see  that  he  did 
a  good  deal  of  writing  while  there,  and  also 
acted  as  the  agent  of  the  English  Government, 
in  looking  after  whatever  matters  needed  his 
attention.  It  was  this  that  probably  made  the 
Irishmen  dislike  him,  rather  than  any  one  thing 
which  he  did,  for  when  he  had  been  there  twelve 
years  there  was  a  rebellion  among  them,  and 
they  burned  the  castle  and  forced  the  poet  to 
run  away  to  England.  The  saddest  thing  about 
it  was  that  his  baby  was  burned  at  the  same 
time,  and  they  tell  us  that  the  lonely  father 
never  recovered  from  his  sorrow  over  this  event. 
At  any  rate  he  died  the  next  year  in  London, 
in  a  small  lodging-house,  and  probably  with 
very  little  money  left.  It  was  with  him  as 
with  so  many,  many  others,  both  in  those  days 
and  now :  the  people  did  not  begin  to  think 
enough  of  him  until  he  was  dead,  and  then 
they  gave  him  a  magnificent  funeral,  and  buried 
him  in  Westminster  Abbey,  where  the  graves  of 
all  the  greatest  Englishmen  are. 

We  know  nothing  but  what  is  good  about 
Edmund  Spenser;  he  seems  to  have  been  a 
kind  man,  loving  everything  true  and  beautiful, 
and  when  we  have  a  chance  to  read  his  writings 
we  shall  feel  certain  that  this  is  so.  Besides 
the  "  Shepherd's  Calendar"  he  wrote  a  book  in 
prose  about  Ireland  while  he  was  there,  and  it 
was  also  at  Kilcolman  Castle  that  his  great 
poem,  "The  Faery  Queene,"  or  as  Ave  should 
say  "  The  Fairy  Queen,"  was  written.  This  is 
a  long,  long  poem,  and  was  planned  to  be 
written  in  twelve  parts,  but  it  is  probable  that 
only  six  of  them  were  ever  finished.  At  any 
rate  that  is  all  which  has  come  down  to  us ; 
and  some  one  has  said  that  in  this  work  ' '  the 
half  is  better  than  the  whole,"  meaning  that 
although  Spenser  wrote  six  very  nice  books,  he 
could  scarcely  have  written  six  more  anywhere 
nearly  so  good. 

The  "Fairy  Queen"  is  what  people  call  an 
allegory;  those  of  us  who  have  read  "The 
Pilgrim's  Progress  " .  have  probably  found  out 
what  is  meant  by  that.  In  allegories  the  story 
seems  to  be  about  real  people,  but  all  the  time 
the  people  stand  for  good  or  bad  qualities,  or 
something  of  that  sort — like  Christian  and  Mr. 
Greatheart,  or  the  Fairy  Queen  and  the  Red 


Cross  Knight.  If  we  look  in  Webster's  Dic- 
tionary under  "allegory,"  we  shall  find  that 
the  "Pilgrim's  Progress"  and  "The  Faery 
Queene  "  are  spoken  of  as  the  most  celebrated 
examples. 

I  am  sorry  to  say  that  we  shall  find  the 
"  Faery  Queene  "  rather  hard  reading ;  not  be- 
cause the  story  is  not  interesting,  but  because 
there  were  so  many  good  English  words  in  those 
days  that  we  have  forgotten  all  about  now. 
Then  the  spelling,  as  we  have  already  guessed 
from  the  name  of  the  poem,  seems  more  like 
one  of  our  PANSY  "Queer  Stories"  than  any- 
thing else.  We  will  try  to  read  just  one  very 
pretty  verse,  at  the  beginning  of  the  second 
Canto,  which  describes  the  sunrise.  Spenser 
put  quaint  little  rhymed  headings  at  the  top  of 
his  cantos ;  the  one  here  is  — 

"  The  guilefull  great  Enchaunter  parts 
The  Redcrcsse  Knight  from  Truth: 

Into  whose  stead  faire  Falshood  steps, 
And  workes  him  woefull  ruth." 

In  reading  the  description  of  the  sunrise  we 
shall  want  to  remember  that  there  was  an  old 
story  that  the  sun  was  a  golden  wagon  driven 
up  the  sky  by  the  god  Phrebus,  and  also  that 
"chanticleer,"  or  "chaunticlere,"  was  the  old- 
fashioned  word  for  rooster.  Here  is  the  verse, 
and  we  will  bid  Spenser  good-by  with  it : 

"  By  this  the  northerne  wagoner  had  set 

His  sevenfold  teme  behind  the  stedfast  starre 

That  was  in  ocean  waves  yet  never  wet, 

But  firtne  is  fixt,  and  sendeth  light  from  farre 

To  all  that  in  the  wide  deepe  wandring  arre: 

And  chearefull  Chaunticlere  with  his  note  shrill 

Had  warned  once  that  Phoebus'  fiery  carre 

In  hast  was  climbing  up  the  easterne  hill, 

Full  envious  that  night  so  long  his  roome  did  fill." 

ELIZABETH  ABBOTT. 


AN  Englishman  visiting  Sweden  and  noticing 
their  care  for  children,  who  were  gathered  up 
from  the  streets  and  highways  and  placed  in 
school,  inquired  if  if  was  not  costly.  "Yes," 
was  the  answer,  "it  is  costly,  but  not  dear. 
We  are  not  rich  enough  to  allow  a  child  to 
grow  up  in  ignorance,  misery  and  crime,  to  be- 
come a  scourge  to  society  as  well  as  a  disgrace 
to  himself." 


A    COMING    RULER. 


A   COMING   RULER. 


HE  little  fellow  at  the  left  of 
the  man  on  a  big  dark  horse, 
is  the  one  for  you  to  study. 
He  looks  like  a  prince  already. 
He  certainly  rides  like  a  soldier. 
What  is  the  color  of  his 
eyes,  the  shape  of  his  nose,  or  the  kind  of 
clothes  on  his  back,  and  many  more  such  things 


of  Prussia,  one  of  the  most  powerful  nations  of 
Europe. 

His  grandfather,  Emperor  William,  died  a 
few  years  ago,  at  a  great  age,  greatly  beloved 
by  all  Germans,  and  respected  by  other  nations. 

That  man,  sitting  in  the  carriage,  dressed 
like  a  soldier,  with  folded  arms  and  a  stern  look 
on  his  face,  is  the  present  Emperor  William. 

There  is  the  mother,  the  Empress,  with  the 
other  children.  Their  faces  are  all  turned 


A    STATELY   RIDER. 


you  would  like  to  know.  Perhaps  you  will 
know  these  and  many  more  things  about  him 
when  you  see  him  in  Boston,  New  York,  San 
Francisco  or  at  the  Chicago  World's  Fair. 

"Will  he  be  there?" 

As  likely  as  not. 

"But  who  is  he?" 

Ah !  now  you  ask  something.  He  is  Master 
Friedrich  Wilhelm,  the  Crown  Prince  of  Ger- 
many. If  he  live  long  enough,  he  will  do 
something  more  than  hold  the  reins  of  that 
pretty,  proud  white  pony ;  he  will  hold  the  reins 


toward  you,  so  you  can  get  a  good  look  at 
them.  But  you  need  not  expect  to  see  so 
many  princes  and  princesses  at  Chicago. 

It  is  the  fashion  nowadays  for  kings,  rulers 
and  coming  rulers  to  visit  other  lands.  Which 
of  our  presidents  went  around  the  world? 

L. 


IT  is  said  that  the  native  Christians  in  Japan, 
with  less  than  one  shilling  a  day  as  an  average 
for  wages,  contributed  last  year  twenty-five 
thousand  dollars  to  mission  work. 


JUST     MOVED     IN. 


JUST   MOVEI>    IN- 


BABY'S     COR  NEK. 


BABY'S    CORNER. 


ROSY    POSY. 

T  last  July  came,  and  Rose  went  to  grandpapa's  to  stay  a  week. 
She  loved  to  go  to  the  farm,  because  grandmamma  let  her  work. 
Rose  could  shell  peas  and  sweep  the  floor  with  a  pretty 
little   broom.     She    took   up    the    dust   on   a   bright   new 
dust-pan. 

The  first  day  she  went  out  in  the  field  with  grandpapa  and  raked  hay. 
Then  she  took  a  little  watering-pot  and  wet  the  flowers. 

By  and  by  Grandmamma  put  the  kettle  on  to  boil. 
"  Now  we  will  get  supper,"  she  said. 


cloth  on  the  table,  and  Rose  put  on 

and  spoons  and  knives  and  forks. 

supper. 

mamma    lighted   a 

upstairs  with  Rose 


She  spread  a  white 
the  cups    and   plates 
They   had    apples    and    cream    for 
When  the  clock  struck  eight  Grand- 
candle    and  went 
to  put  her  to  bed. 

Grandpapa  said,  "Good-night,  dear  Rosy  Posy." 
Rose  lay  still  as  a  mouse,  and  soon  she  was  fast  asleep. 
In    the    morn-  je*««v  m£  wuen  Rose  opened  her  eyes  the 

sun  was   shining         ;&s|      li^^D       ^n  a*  *ne  window.     There 
was  a  big  fly  buz-    i^JSffijjSJSa  z*n»  a^out  trying  to  warm 

himself  in  the   sunlight.     Rose  liked    x^,^^,  •.  ^_  to  watch  him. 

And  then  a  funny  voice  cried  out:     "  Get  up,  Rosy  Posy." 
It  was  Poll.     Grandpapa  had  taught  her  to  say  it. 

MRS.  C.  M.  LIVINGSTON. 


THE  HARD  TEX  T  .  —  AN  GIE' S  CROSS. 


THE  HARD  TEXT. 

(Matt.  xiv.  1-10.) 

HEROD  seemed  to  think  one  must  keep  a 
promise,  no  matter  what  it  is,  so  he  put 
good,  honest  John  the  Baptist  to  death !  One 
reason  he  gave  was  because  of  what  his  guests 
would  say.  But  how  did  he  know  but  they 
would  say  it  was  right  for  him  to  break  such  a 
bad  promise  ?  But  why  did  he  not  think : 
"  What  will  people  all  the  coming  years  say  to 
this  wicked  deed  ?  What  will  the  angels  say  ? 
What  will  the  holy  mighty  God  say  ?  " 

"  But  shouldn't  one  keep  his  promises?  " 

You  see  Herod  should  not  in  this  case.  Sup- 
pose the  girl  had  said  :  "Give  me  your  crown," 
or  "Let  me  cut  your  head  or  tongue  off,"  how 
then  about  Mr.  Herod's  keeping  his  promise? 
Guess  he  would  have  found  a  way  —  not  to 
keep  his  oath. 

No,  it  is  never  right  to  keep  a  wrong  promise. 
That  would  be  doing  two  wrong  things  instead 
of  one.  Herod  had  no  business  to  take  such 
an  oath.  How  could  he  know  what  this  artful 
dancer  might  ask?  No  one  may  make  a  prom- 
ise about  which  one  cannot  know. 

Don't  ever  do  such  a  thing. 

"If  you  have  done  it?"  Break  it.  Break 
it,  and  repent  over  your  rashness.  Beware  of 
the  state  of  your  mind  when  you  make  a  pledge. 
See  th#t  you  know  what  you  are  about. 

Perhaps  Herod  would  never  have  taken  such 
an  awful  oath  had  he  not  been  intoxicated  with 
wine  and  this  dancing  girl.  "When  wine  is  in 
wit  is  out."  Many  a  person  has  lost  his  reason 
and  committed  some  great  crime  by  being  in 
such  society.  Wine  and  dancing  never  helped 
any  one  heavenward. 

Take  care !  L. 


MANY  blessings  will  occur  to  him  who  is  in 
search  of  them.  Let  us  dwell  lovingly  and 
gratefully  upon  these;  let  us  weigh  and  con- 
sider how  to  make  the  most  of  them,  by  neg- 
lecting no  opportunity  and  shutting  out  nothing 
from  our  life  that  can  brighten  and  invigo- 
rate it. 


ANGIE'S   CROSS.— II. 

{Character  Studies.) 

WAS  sorry  for  the  mother. 
I  heard  her  gentle,  troubled 
voice  in  the  hall,  trying  to 
make  explanations.  "  Not  go- 
ing !  "  was  the  startled  response 
of  the  girls  ;  ' '  what  is  the  mat- 
ter? O,  dear  me!  what  shall  we  do  without 
her?  Celia  Lewis  might  sing  the  part  if  she 
had  only  known ;  but  she  thought  she  wouldn't 
be  needed,  and  she  isn't  feeling  very  well, 
so  she  didn't  come  out.  Dear  Mrs.  Con- 
ran,  cannot  you  coax  Angie  to  come?  I  am 
afraid  we  shall  have  to  give  up  the  anthem  alto- 
gether if-  you  don't.  Harold  says  he  cannot 
sing  it  without  having  one  rehearsal." 

"I  am  very  sorry,"  said  gentle  Mrs.  Conran, 
"but  I  am  afraid  it  is  quite  out  of  the  question, 
Angie  is  so  sure  she  cannot  go  to-night.  Per- 
haps you  can  arrange  a  rehearsal  early  in  the 
morning  ?  " 

"No,  ma'am,  we  can't  do  that,  because 
the  Bible  classes  occupy  the  room,  you  know, 
until  the  last  minute.  O,  dear!  how  I  wish 
we  had  known  it  before.  I  don't  know  what 
we  shall  do.  Is  Angie  feeling  very  ill,  Mrs. 
Conran  ?  " 

"N-o,"  said  the  mother  hesitatingly,  and  I 
knew  that  her  face  flushed  to  her  temples ;  "she 
isn't  sick,  but  she  is  very  much  —  out  of  sorts. 
I  regret  it  exceedingly,  but  you  know  how 
Angie  is.  When  she  once  settles  in  her  own 
mind  that  she  can't  do  a  thing  it  doesn't  seem 
possible  for  her  to  get  the  consent  of  her  will 
to  do  it." 

"Well,"  they  said,  turning  away,  "it  seems 
too  bad,  when  Dr.  BraW  asked  for  that  par- 
ticular anthem,  and  Angie  is  the  only  one  who 
has  sung  it;  but  I  suppose  we  shall  manage 
some  way.  Good-evening." 

Mrs.  Conran  closed  the  door  after  them  and 
came  slowly  back  to  the  parlor,  I,  meantime, 
wishing  there  had  been  some  excuse  for  me  to 
slip  away,  so  that  she  need  not  have  the  em- 
barrassment of  meeting  me.  There  was  a 
wearv  attempt  at  a  smile  on  her  face,  which 


THINGS     WHICH     SOME     PEOPLE     REGRET. 


had  grown  pale  again,  and  she  said  apologeti- 
cally : 

"  Poor  Angie  !  she  is  the  victim  of  her  own 
strong  will.  I  sometimes  feel  very  sorry  that 
she  matured  in  some  things  so  early;  she 
has  an  idea  that  her  mother  does  not  know  what 
is  suitable  for  young  people  to  wear,  and  is 
growing  a  little  too  fond  of  dress,  I  am  afraid. 
She  has  been  put  forward  so  much  in  her  music 
that  it  has  injured  her.  It  seems  strange  that 
a  sweet  voice  should  lead  one  into  temptation, 
doesn't  it?" 

I  murmured  something  about  girls  being 
fond  of  their  own  way  and  about  their  having 
to  learn  by  experience,  the  more  to  give  the 
mother  a  chance  to  recover  herself  than  be- 
cause I  felt  that  I  had  anything  worth  say- 
ing. I  do  not  think  she  heard  all  I  said,  but 
the  words  ' '  learn  by  experience  "  caught  her 
attention. 

"Yes,"  she  said,  after  a  moment,  speaking 
with  a  long-drawn  sigh,  "that  is  it.  Poor 
child !  she  must  learn  by  experience,  and  ex- 
perience is  a  bitter  teacher  sometimes.  Often, 
when  I  hear  her  sweet  voice  roll  out  on  those 
solemn  words : 

"  '  Nearer,  my  God,  to  thee, 

E'en  though  it  be  a  cross 
That  leadeth  me,' 

I  wonder  what  the  '  cross '  will  be  that  will  lead 
Angie  to  think  less  of  her  own  will  and  more 
of  Christ.  She  is  so  strong-willed,  so  passion- 
ate, and  has  such  a  way  of  giving  vent  to  the 
thoughts  that  come  into  her  mind  at  the  mo- 
ment, without  stopping  to  realize  how  they  will 
sound. 

4 '  In  some  way  the  child  must  be  taught.  It 
seems  to  me  I  have  tried  hard  to  teach  her,  but 
I  have  failed.  I  do  not  often  speak  in  this 
way  of  her,"  she  added,  with  a  sad  smile;  "I 
do  not  like  to  talk  about  her  faults  before  any 
one,  but  to-night  you  heard  all  the  talk,  and  I 
want  you  to  understand  that  her  words  do  not 
mean  all  they  seem  to.  She  would  be  startled 
and  frightened  at  herself  if  she  could  have  them 
photographed  in  some  way  and  spread  out  be- 
fore her. 


' '  But  every  exhibition  of  this  kind  only  proves 
to  me  more  clearly  that  she  is  in  need  of  a 
solemn  lesson,  and  I  do  not  know  how  it  is 
coming. 

"  'Though  like  a  wanderer, 

Daylight  all  gone, 
Darkness  be  over  me, 

My  rest  a  stone.' 

' '  It  makes  my  heart  ache  sometimes  to 
hear  her  sing  those  words,  because  I  cannot 
help  wondering  if  she  must  have  the  '  dark- 
ness '  and  the  '  stone '  to  bring  her  to  the  true 
Light." 

I  did  not  know  what  to  say  to  the  pale  mother, 
so  I  said  nothing ;  but  as  I  thought  of  her  un- 
natural pallor,  in  sharp  contrast  with  the  two 
burning  spots  on  her  wasted  cheeks,  and  re- 
membered how  constantly  that  little  cough  an- 
noyed her,  I  felt  sorry  for  Angie.  I  thought  I 
could  see  the  way  in  which  the  "cross"  must 
come. 

I  could  feel  how  much  heavier  she  was  mak- 
ing it  for  herself ;  because  some  day,  perhaps 
soon,  her  memory  would  recall  with  bitter  tears 
the  harsh,  cruel  words  she  had  spoken  to  her 
mother,  absorbed  as  she  was  in  the  eager 
desire  to  have  her  own  way.  If  she  would  only 
consent  to  be  led  "nearer"  by  a  pleasanter 
path! 

MYRA  SPAFFORD. 


THINGS   WHICH   SOME   PEOPLE 
REGRET. 

NOW  we  have  something  unique.  Read  the 
"Regrets  "  over  carefully,  and  you  will 
discover  that  we  have  had  nothing  like  this. 
You  recognize  the  writer,  I  presume,  as  an 
author  who  has  interested  a  great  many  people. 
Let  us  hope  that  he  will  never  have  occasion  to 
regret  the  regret  which  he  has  so  kindly  given 
us. 

"I  have  regrets  for  the  past,  of  course;  but  I  have  rarely 
expressed  regrets  without,  afterward  regretting  that  I  had 
expressed  them." 

Yours  truly, 

GEORGE  W.  CABLE. 


WHO'S     AFRAID? 


WHO'S   AFRAID  ? 


THE     FIRST     FLAG. 


THE    FIRST   FLAG. 

OULD  the  Pansies  like  to  see 
a  picture  of  the  first  United 
States  flag  which  ever  floated 
from  a  vessel?  Count  the 
stars.  Why  do  you  suppose 
there  are  only  twelve,  when 

everybody  knows  that  thirteen  was  the  original 

number?    The  explanation  is  said  to  be  that  at 

the  time  this  particular  flag  was  made  —  that  is 

in  1779 — the  Legislature  of  Maryland  had  not 

yet  formally  joined  the  Union,  so  her  star  was 

omitted. 

The   flag  was   made    by  some   Philadelphia 

ladies,    and   presented   to   Captain 

Jones.     For  a  time  it  sailed  proudly 

up  and  down  the  Schuylkill,  fresh 

and    beautiful.     Then   it   went   to 

war,  and  was  shot  and  fell  into  the 

sea.     A  young  lieutenant,  Stafford 

by  name,  jumped  overboard  to  save 

the  flag.     When  it  fell  the  British 

thought  the  Yankees  had  "struck 

their  colors,"  but  in  a  little  time  it 

waved    aloft   again,  trimmed   with 

bullet  holes.     You  must  read  in  our 

United    States   history   about    the 

great  victory  which  Captain  Jones 

and  his  brave  vessel,  the  Bonhomme 

Richard,  gained  at  that  time. 
When  the  war  was  over  the  flag 

was  sent  to  Lieutenant  Stafford  as 

a  memento  of  his  faithfulness  and 

bravery.    It  has  been  kept  in  the  Stafford  family 

ever  since,  although  they  have  been  urged  many 

times  to  sell  it,  and  as  many  as  three  thousand 

dollars  have  been  offered  for  it. 

When  the  lieutenant's  daughter  Sarah  died 

the    old    flag   was    draped    about    her   coffin. 

When  President  Harrison  was  inaugurated    it 

came  to  Washington,  and  was  carried  by  one 

of  the  Stafford  family  in  the  procession. 

We  show  you,  also,  the  picture  of  Mrs.  James 

Bayard    Stafford,  the  wife  of   the   lieutenant. 

She  was  over  eighty  years  old  when  this  picture 

was  taken,  but  the  face  shows  a  sweet  brave 

woman,  strong  for  the  right  and  the  true,  which 

was  the  character  she  bore.     I  do  not  know 


whether  she  is  still  living,  but  a  few  years  ago 
she  was  the  light  of  the  home  in  Cottage  City, 
Mass.,  and  guarded  the  old  historic  flag  as  a 
sacred  relic.  PANSY. 


AN  Indian  arrow  is  quite  a  work  of  art. 
The  head,  or  point,  is  made  from  a  bar- 
rel hoop  about  three  inches  long,  tapered  to  a 
point,  and  sharpened  on  both  sides.  In  a  bunch 
of  arrows  these  points  are  absolutely  uniform. 
The  shaft  is  made  of  ash  about  twenty-three 
inches  long.  The  feathers  are  glued  on  and 
lashed  at  each  end  with  sinew.  The  head  or 
point  is  inserted  in  the  wood,  and  also  lashed 


PAUL  JONES'S  "  STAKKY  FLAG." 

with  sinew.  And  running  along  the  arrow  are 
three  wave-like  grooves  from  the  head  to  the 
feathers.  This,  the  Indians  explain,  is  to  make 
the  arrow  go  straight.  The  bow  is  also  made 
of  ash,  and  with  a  string  of  twisted  sinew  taken 
from  along  the  back  of  a  beef.  So  that  with  an 
ordinary  butcher  knife  and  a  file,  if  it  is  to  be 
had,  an  Indian  can  make  his  own  arms. 

The  penetrating  force  of  an  arrow  is  won- 
derful. An  Indian  can  shoot  an  arrow  right 
through  a  buffalo.  I  have  heard  it  stated  that 
bows  and  arrows  would  be  much  more  effective 
weapons  in  the  hands  of  Indians  than  such 
guns  as  they  surrendered  to  General  Miles.  — 
Selected. 


AN     UNWELCOME     BILL. 


AN    UNWELCOMK    BILL. 


ABOUT    BUFFALO. 


ABOUT   BUFFALO. 

BY   THE    PANSIES. 

HAVE  been  waiting  for  the 
time  to  come  to  write  about 
Buffalo,  because  I  knew  some- 
thing queer  to  write.  Three 
of  the  nice  streets  there  are 
named  Niagara  St.,  Erie  St., 
and  Church  St. ;  but  their  names  used  to  be 
Schimmelpennick  Avenue,  Vollenhoven  Avenue 
and  Stadnitski  Avenue  !  Isn't  it  a  good  thing 
they  were  changed? 

MARGARET  L.  JOHNSON. 


THE  Indian  name  for  Buffalo  is  Teosahway. 
I  think  it  is  much  prettier  than  Buffalo.  Some 
fpeople  say  the  city  was  named  for  an  old  Indian 
«chief  who  lived  in  a  hut  in  the  center  of  where 
tthe  main  business  part  is  now  located ;  the  In- 
dian's name  was  Buff  aloe.  But  others  think  it 
was  named  after  the  "  creek,"  where  the  buffa- 
loes oised  to  come  in  droves. 

HENRY  RICE. 


THE  city  of  Buffalo  used  to  be  spelled  with 
•an  e,  and  the  citizens  had  a  great  time  getting 
rid  of  that  final  e.  Father  says  that  years 
after  it  had  been  dropped  the  city  of  Biug- 
hamton,  N.  Y.,  which  used  to  be  spelled 
"  Binghainpton,"  set  to  work  to  get  rid  of 
that  unnecessary  p.  Buffalo,  forgetting  the 
trouble  it  had  had,  was  the  last  to  remember 
the  change  ;  long  after  others  were  pretty  well 
educated,  the  Buffalo  postmaster  would  send 
the  Binghamton  mail  in  a  package  marked 
"  Binghampton."  At  last  the  Binghamton 
postmaster  made  up  a  package  for  Buffalo  and 
Addressed  it  in  very  large  letters,  "  Buffalop," 
then  wrote  underneath:  "If  you  are  so  fond 
of  the  letter  p  take  it."  Father  says  he  be- 
lieves this  cured  them. 

SARAH  H.  ATCHISON. 


MY  grandmother  used  to  live  in  Buffalo  when 
the  water  supply  was  very  different  from  what 
it  is  now.  There  used  to  be  an  old  man  whom 
.they  called  "Water  John."  He  had  a  cart  and 


an  old  horse,  and  he  used  to  fill  a  hogshead  with 
water  at  the  lake,  and  go  through  the  streets 
peddling  it  for  a  shilling  a  barrel.  A  shilling 
was  twelve  and  a  half  cents.  Grandmother 
says  they  always  used  to  have  to  give  Water 
John  thirteen  cents ;  and  I  don't  see  why  they 
did  not  call  it  thirteen  cents  a  barrel,  instead 
of  a  price  which  nobody  could  exactly  pay. 

LAURA  HOLMAN. 


I  HAD  a  great-uncle  who  used  to  live  in  Buffalo 
when  there  were  only  about  forty  houses  there, 
all  built  of  logs ;  and  I  have  an  uncle  living  in 
Buffalo  now  who  went  there  in  1825,  when  there 
were  about  two  thousand  inhabitants,  and  has 
seen  it  grow  to  its  present  size  —  about  two 
hundred  and  fifty  thousand;  some  say  more 
than  that.  It  must  be  a  great  thing  to  be  able 
to  look  back  on  such  changes. 

JAMES  CAMPBELL. 


MY  grandmother  went  to  Buffalo  when  she 
was  a  little  girl  and  took  a  ride  on  the  ' '  Black 
Rock  Railroad  " ;  that  was  what  they  called  it, 
but  it  was  just  a  street  car.  Grandmother 
thinks  it  was  the  first  horse  railroad  used  in 
this  country.  There  was  a  car  for  pleasant 
weather  and  one  for  storms.  The  pleasant 
weather  one  was  like  a  great  box,  with  an  out- 
side seat  for  the  driver.  The  seats  were  just 
boards  with  straight  backs.  There  was  no 
cover,  and  the  sun  could  pelt  down  on  you  as 
much  as  it  pleased.  For  bad  weather  they  had 
one  with  a  top,  and  canvas  curtains  that  but- 
toned down.  The  car  was  drawn  by  one  horse, 
and  Grandmother  says  they  did  not  use  any 
time  table,  but  came  along  just  whenever  it 
happened.  The  fare  was  a  shilling. 

LUCY  STEVENSON. 


IT  is  great  fun  to  read  about  Buffalo  as  it 
used  to  be.  I  was  there  last  summer  and 
stopped  at  an  elegant  hotel.  I  forget  its  name, 
but  I  know  they  said  it  was  the  handsomest  in 
the  city,  and  it  was  just  splendid,  I  tell  you ! 
A  little  while  after  I  came  home  I  read  about 
"The  Farmers'  Hotel,"  which  was  the  grand 
hotel  of  Buffalo  in  1832.  I  saw  a  picture  of 
it;  the  queerest  looking  little  old  building  you 


ABOUT     BUFFALO. 


ever  saw,  with  a  bell  on  the  top.  like  a  great 
cow  bell ;  it  was  rung  by  a  rope,  and  that  is 
the  way  people  used  to  be  called  to  their  meals. 
The  book  I  was  reading  said  it  was  a  very  use- 
ful bell,  for  it  not  only  told  when  breakfast  or 
dinner  was  ready  at  the  Farmers'  Hotel,  but 
was  useful  as  a  time-keeper  in  every  house  in 
the  neighborhood ;  for  there  were  very  few  peo- 
ple indeed  in  those  days  who  carried  watches, 
and  clocks  were  very  rare  and  costly. 

REUBEN  S.  BENTON. 


I  HAVE  a  letter  which  was  written  to  my 
grandmother  in  1836,  by  a  lady  who  lived  in 
Buffalo.  Grandmother  lived  in  New  York,  and 
the  amount  of  postage  which  it  took  to  carry 
the  letter  from  Buffalo  to  New  York  was  two 
shillings.  This  was  marked  in  red  ink  on  the 
outside  of  the  letter ;  not  on  an  envelope,  for 
none  were  used,  but  one  side  of  the  paper  was 
left  blank,  and  the  letter  was  folded  in  a  curi- 
ous way,  and  marked  "Paid  2  s."  Grand- 
mother said  her  sister  in  Albany  used  to  get 
letters  from  the  same  lady,  and  hers  were 
marked:  "Paid  18|."  At  that  time  it  cost 
less  to  write  from  Buffalo  to  Albany  than  it 
did  from  Buffalo  to  New  York ;  and  I  must  say 
that  seems  reasonable.  Why  should  letters  be 
two  cents  now,  whether  they  travel  ten  miles 
or  a  thousand?  But  I  am  glad  they  are  not 
twenty-five  cents. 

CARRIE  FOSTER. 


BUFFALO  is  a  great  city.  You  can  start  from 
it  and  go  anywhere  you  want  to,  at  most  any 
hour  of  the  day  or  night.  There  are  as  many 
as  thirteen  different  railroad  lines  to  choose 
from,  to  say  nothing  of  steamboats  and  all  that 
sort  of  thing.  But  it  is  the  queerest  laid  out 
city  in  this  country.  A  man  Ellicott  planned 
it  almost  a  century  ago,  and  meant  to  build  a 
palace  for  himself  right  in  the  center,  but  he 
never  did. 

JOHN  JONES. 


MOTHER  says  I  ought  to  be  able  to  write  you 
a  letter  about  Buffalo,  because  I've  been  there 
lots  of  times.  But  I  can't.  What  is  there  to 
write  about  a  city,  I  should  like  to  know? 


They  are  all  alike ;  great  long  streets  with  big: 
houses  on  both  sides,  or  big  stores  or  some- 
thing, and  churches  every  little  way,  and  crowds, 
of  people  in  the  streets  getting  in  a  fellow's, 
way  all  the  time,  and  carts  running  over  you, 
and  carriages  that  you  want  to  take  a  ride  in 
and  can't ;  and  an  awful  noise  and  smoke  and 
hurly-burly.  I'd  rather  spend  one  afternoon  in 
the  country  in  an  apple  orchard  or  a  straw- 
berry field,  or  by  a  trout  stream,  than  to  be  a 
whole  week  in  any  city  I  ever  saw.  Buffalo 
has  some  splendid-looking  houses  and  parks, 
and  there  is  a  lunatic  asylum  that  I  was  inter- 
ested in,  because  the  people  acted  so  queer.  I 
don't  like  Buffalo,  however,  nor  any  other  big 
place.  TOM  HURST. 


I  THINK  they  must  make  flour  enough  in 
Buffalo  to  supply  the  world  with  bread.  My 
father  says  that  twelve  years  ago  there  were 
eleven  great  flouring  mills  there,  and  he  doesn't 
know  how  many  moi*e  have  been  started  since. 
At  that  time  they  made  every  year  about  two- 
hundred  and  fifty  thousand  barrels  of  flour; 
but  dear  me !  it  would  take  more  flour  than 
that  to  feed  the  world,  wouldn't  it?  What  a 
lot  of  things  we  do  have  to  eat ! 

JIMMIE  TUCKER. 


I  SHOULD  think  Buffalo  would  be  called  the 
"City  of  Churches."  There  must  be  hundreds 
of  churches  there.  I  went  with  my  uncle  and 
brother  to  look  at  different  ones,  and  it  took  us 
two  days  just  to  see  those  which  were  on  three 
streets  of  the  city.  Some  of  them  are  lovely, 
and  some  were  great,  dark-looking  buildings, 
like  jails.  LUCY  STONE. 


[On  the  whole  we  consider  these  Buffalo  letters  decidedly 
unique.  A  little  ahead  of  anything  in  that  line  which  the 
Pansies  have  yet  given  us.  Certainly  some  rather  original 
ideas  in  regard  to  cities  in  general  have  been  advanced,  and 
we  have  been  given  a  better  chance  than  usual  to  mark  the 
progress  which  time  has  made.  We  are  somewhat  surprised 
that  no  one  has  described  a  ride  to  or  from  the  city  on  one  of 
the  canal  packets.  That  is  a  vivid  memory  of  our  childhood 
which  we  would  like  to  tell  you  about  were  there  time. 

Our  material  is  as  usual  not  exhausted,  but  our  space  is.  I 
presume  Buffalo  will  fare  like  the  cities  which  have  preceded 
it  —  that  is,  some  of  the  best  letters  will  come  too  late  to  use. 
If  our  Pansies  could  only  learn  to  start  three  months  ahead !  — 
EDITORS.] 


MAJOR'S     AUTOBIOGRAPHY. 


MAJOR'S   AUTOBIOGRAPHY. 


v. 


HIS  is  a  beautiful  moonlight 
evening,  but  you  would  rather 
listen  to  me  than  bark  at  the 
moon  ? 

All  right ;  I  don't  mind  talk- 
ing when  I  have  good  listeners, 
but  to  try  to  tell  a  story  and  be  constantly  re- 
minded that  those  to  whom  you  talk  are  think- 
ing of  something  else,  is  not  pleasant. 

"What  shall  I  talk  about  to-night? 

"  Something  concerning  our  relatives  away 
back?" 

So  you  want  to  know  what  kind  of  blood 
there  is  in  our  veins  ?  That  is  an  interesting 
theme  for  some,  and  why  not  for  us? 

It  is  not  three  days  since  I  heard  our  master 
boast  that  he  had  descended  from  the  Pilgrim 
Fathers.  We  do  not  all  claim  to  be  related, 
but  we  are  of  one  family  now,  and  so  interested 
in  each  other. 

I  like  to  think  that  some  of  my  relatives  have 
done  good  and  been  faithful ;  so  I  think  I  will 
tell  you  what  one  of  my  great-great-great-uncles 
did  a  long  time  ago. 

His  name  was  Sport,  and  at  the  time  to  which 
I  refer  he  lived  with  a  man  by  the  name  of 
Stillman.  He  was  thought  much  of  for  hunt- 
ing, and  because  of  his  skill  in  this  direction 
he  had  a  chance  to  earn  the  reputation  which 
so  many  envied ;  that  is,  to  earn  it  in  just  the 
way  he  did. 

I  want  my  young  friends  to  remember  that 
the  way  is  always  open  for  any  dog  to  get  a 
good  name  if  he  will  only  try.  Why,  even  a 
little  insignificant  poodle  can  be  of  use.  There 
is  our  neighbor,  Mr.  Fellows;  he  had  two  or 
three  dog  sentinels  all  about  his  place,  and  the 
other  night  a  man  got  clear  to  his  front  door, 
and  none  of  these  big  fellows  said  or  knew  any 
thing  of  it ;  but  the  moment  the  man  reached 
the  door  little  Tip,  the  poodle,  notified  the 
whole  house. 

Well,  this  dog  Sport  was  taken  by  his  mas- 
ter, one  fall,  away  off  into  the  wood.  They 
went  miles  and  miles  beyond  where  anybody 


pretended  to  live,  and  there  in  a  little  hut  they 
staid  for  days  and  days,  the  master  hunting 
and  fishing  and  resting. 

This  was  all  well  enough  so  long  as  nothing 
unusual  occurred,  though  it  was  pretty  lone- 
some for  the  four-footed  one.  The  master 
seemed  to  take  it  for  granted  that  his  dog  knew 
nothing  but  how  to  follow  game,  so  said  little 
to  him,  sometimes  hardly  noticing  him  from 
morning  till  night. 

As  I  said,  matters  moved  on  very  well  for  a 
time,  but  there  came  a  change.  Mr.  Stillman 
awoke  one  night  feeling  very  ill,  and  by  morn- 
ing was  sick  enough. 

He  took  such  medicine  as  he  had,  but  grew 
worse  and  worse.  The  poor  man  could  not  sit 
up  to  write,  and  if  he  could  have  written,  who 
would  be  mail  carrier  for  him? 

He  lay  there  and  thought,  and  tried  to  plan. 
"If  I  only  had  a  St.  Bernard  dog  I  might  send 
him  for  help  ;  but  Sport  is  nothing  but  a  hunt- 
ing dog,  and  he  cannot  understand  anything 
but  how  to  follow  a  track." 

In  the  meantime  Sport  was  feeling  badly, 
and  trying  to  think  what  he  might  do,  for  his 
master  was  getting  worse  all  the  time.  Walk- 
ing around  the  room  he  saw  an  envelope  with 
something  in  it,  and  while  his  master  was  seem- 
ingly asleep,  he  took  the  package  in  his  mouth 
and  started  upon  the  run  in  the  direction  in 
which  they  came  into  the  woods. 

He  made  pretty  fast  time  for  eight  or  ten 
miles ;  then  he  came  to  a  trail,  and  knew  a 
party  had  passed  there  not  long  before.  So, 
putting  his  nose  to  the  ground,  he  soon  learned 
which  way  they  had  gone,  and  followed  them 
at  good  speed. 

Fortunately  he  came  upon  them  where  they 
had  encamped  for  the  night.  It  proved  to  be 
quite  a  large  party  with  an  experienced  guide. 

Sport  dashed  in  among  them  and  laid  down 
his  package  and  barked,  to  call  their  attention 
to  it.  The  men  examined  the  writing,  and 
while  it  did  not  tell  them  how  it  was  sent  —  it 
not  having  been  sent  —  it  seemed  to  be  an 
attempt  of  some  one  to  leave  on  record  the 
condition  he  was  in,  his  name  and  address,  so 
that  if  he  should  die,  any  one  finding  this  might 
be  able  to  inform  his  friends. 


MAJOR'S     AUTOBIOGRAPHY. 


No  one  of  those  who  first  composed  the 
party  knew  what  to  think  of  the  paper,  for 
there  was  little  of  it  which  could  be  read,  more 
than  the  name ;  but  the  guide  was  not  long  in 
interpreting  Sport's  meaning,  and  told  them 
that  the  faithful  dog  had  without  doubt  come 
from  some  one  in  distress,  and  that  they  must 
try  to  find  him. 

"  If  I  don't  miss  my  guess  by  a  shot  or  two 
this  four-legged  mail-carrier  will  be  dreadful 
glad  to  pilot  us  back  the  way  he  came ;  won't 
you,  old  fellow  ?  " 

Sport  showed  his  readiness  by  jumping  up 
and    starting ;    but    Simpkins  — 
that  was  the  guide's  name 
— called  him  back,  patted 
him   on   the    head,   and 
gave  him   something   to 
eat,  promising  to  go 
with  him  pretty  soon. 

The  guide  told  the 
party  to  remain  there, 
all  but  one  or  two, 


hesitated ;  and  the  men  probably  preferred  fol- 
lowing him  to  being  left  alone. 

As  they  neared  the  place  on  the  main  trail, 
Sport  would  run  ahead  and  bark,  and  then 
come  back  to  the  guide  and  whine. 

"Well,  they  got  to  the  hut  at  last,  and  it  ap- 
peared as  though  the  sick  man  had  not  moved 
while  his  faithful  friend  was  gone ;  and  what 
is  more,  the  doctor  said  he  never  would  have 
moved  if  help  had  not  come. 

The  men  rubbed  him  and  gave  him  medicine, 


SPORT   BEFRIENDS   HIS   MASTER. 


till  he  should  return.  One  of  their  number 
was  a  doctor,  who  was  taking  his  vacation,  and 
he  volunteered  to  be  one  of  the  company  to 
make  the  search  for  the  supposed  sufferer. 
Although  all  had  believed  themselves  to  be 
tired,  yet  they  were  soon  off,  Sport  taking  the 
lead,  and  so  eager  that  he  let  his  followers 
only  just  keep  in  sight.  It  was  dark  some  time 
before  the  little  hut  was  reached. 

When  the  men  told  the  story  afterward,  they 
said  it  was  a  great  wonder  they  kept  on  follow- 
ing a  dog  in  that  way,  though  the  guide  never 


and  towards  morning  he  opened  his  eyes.  It 
took  him  a  little  while  to  make  out  what  it  all 
meant,  but  when  Sport  heard  his  voice  he  sprang 
to  his  side,  and  seemed  wild  with  delight. 

There  is  a  great  deal  more  to  this  story  which 
I  will  not  take  time  to  tell.  The  doctor  tried 
hard  to  buy  Sport  after  that,  but  his  master 
said  he  would  sooner  let  him  have  one  of  his 
hands ;  he  kept  him  until  he  died  of  old  age. 

Before  he  died  Mr.  Stillman  had  his  picture 
painted  by  a  fine  artist.  Master  and  dog  have 
been  dead  for  years,  but  I  have  seen  both  their 


JACK'S     DECISION. 


pictures,  made  by  the  same  man.  Saw  them 
often  when  I  was  little.  Our  folks  used  to  tell 
the  story  to  people  who  visited  them,  and  then 
point  to  me  and  say:  "This  little  fellow  is 
related  to  that  noble  dog,  and  we  hope  he  will 
be  like  him."  Then  I  would  be  so  proud  of  the 
relationship,  and  resolve  to  be  just  as  good  if  I 
could  not  be  as  smart. 

Now  it  is  time  to  look  around  and  see  that 
everything  is  all  right.  If  they  have  not  for- 
gotten to  shut  the  hen-house  door,  we  can  take 
our  places  as  usual  till  morning. 

No,  I  never  had  such  a  chance  as  old  Uncle 
Sport  had  for  making  a  name,  but  I  have  done 
what  I  could,  and  my  master  is  not  slow  to 
show  that  he  loves  me. 


JACK'S   DECISION. 

ACK  was  in  a  very  doleful 
frame  of  mind.  It  was  Sab- 
bath morning,  and  as  bright  a 
day  as  even  July  could  furnish 
to  that  part  of  the  world.  The 
birds  in  the  trees,  the  leaves  as 
they  rustled,  and  the  sweet  odors  in  the  air,  all 
seemed  to  whisper  that  it  was  a  perfect  Sunday. 
Jack  wanted  to  go  to  church.  Not  that  he  was 
devoted  to  church-going,  either.  The  sermon 
often  seemed  long  to  him,  and  he  sometimes 
grew  very  tired  of  counting  the  bits  of  stained 
glass  of  which  the  large  round  window  was 
made ;  but  on  this  particular  morning,  as  he 
sat  curled  up  in  the  large  armchair  with  a  great 
pillow  at  his  back,  he  made  himself  believe  that 
there  was  nothing  in  life  he  wanted  so  much  as 
to  go  to  church  that  day.  It  was  not  simply 
that  the  new  carriage  was  to  be  used  for  the 
first  time,  and  that  Prince  and  Tony  were  har- 
nessed together  before  it,  and  would  look  splen- 
did, but  in  addition  to  these  excellent  reasons 
Jack  had  not  been  out  of  the  house  for  nearly 
a  week,  and  had  not  had  a  ride  since  last  Sab- 
bath, and  it  seemed  to  him  he  should  fly  if  he 
had  to  stay  in  much  longer.  But  then,  Jack 
had  the  mumps,  so  it  couldn't  be  helped. 

Uncle  Jack  was  to  stay  with  him ;  or  rather 


he  was  to  stay  with  Uncle  Jack,  which  was 
pleasant,  for  although  this  favorite  uncle  always 
staid  at  home  on  Sundays,  and  could  not  take 
a  single  step  without  somebody  on  either  side 
to  help,  yet  his  nephew  considered  him  the 
"jolliest  kind  of  a  companion."  This  may 
have  been  partly  owing  to  the  fact  that  Jack 
the  uncle  was  quite  young  to  have  that  title  — 
only  a  boy  of  twenty — and  he  was  as  sun- 
shiny, in  fact  more  so  than  many  boys  of  ten 
contrive  to  be. 

On  this  particular  day  he  exerted  himself  to 
his  utmost  to  entertain  his  namesake,  and  suc- 
ceeded so  well  that  when  the  clock  struck  twelve 
the  boy  said,  in  round-eyed  wonder:  "Why, 
who  would  have  thought  it  was  so  late  ?  They 
will  be  home  in  a  little  while,  won't  they?" 

"That's  a  fact,"  said  Uncle  Jack.  "I  think 
there  will  be  just  time  for  us  to  have  our  Bible 
story  together,  and  a  little  talk  about  it  before 
they  come.  You  know  that  was  to  finish  the 
morning's  programme,  Jack." 

"All  right,"  said  Jack,  settling  back  on  his 
pillow,  ' '  go  ahead ;  I  like  to  hear  you  read  the 
Bible  better  than  anybody  else,  except  mother, 
of  course." 

This  was  no  wonder,  for  Uncle  Jack  had  a 
way  of  reading  between  the  lines,  something 
after  this  fashion  :  "  'And  a  certain  man,  lame 
from  his  mother's  womb,  was  carried.'  Just 
think  of  that,  my  boy !  Forty  years  old,  and 
never  had  walked  a  step !  That  is  worse  than 
being  lame  for  two  years,  isn't  it?" 

' '  How  do  you  know  he  was  forty  years  old  ? 
It  doesn't  say  so." 

"It  does  in  another  place;  I  hunted  it  up 
once,  to  see  how  long  he  had  been  a  burden  on 
his  friends.  And  just  listen  to  this  as  the  best 
they  could  do  for  him :  '  Whom  they  laid  daily 
at  the  gate  of  the  temple,  which  is  called  Beau- 
tiful, to  ask  alms  of  them  that  entered  into  the 
temple.' " 

"  They  were  a  mean  lot,"  said  Jack ;  "  they 
might  have  kept  him  at  home  and  taken  care 
of  him." 

"Ah,  my  boy!  that  is  much  the  way  it  is 
to-day  in  countries  where  Jesus  Christ  does  not 
reign ;  still,  we  must  not  be  too  hard  on  these 
friends  of  his ;  they  may  have  been  miserably 


DOLEFUL  JACK. — (See  "  Jack's  Decision.") 


JACK'S     DECISION. 


poor,  and  to  carry  the  man  to  the  gate  and 
leave  him  there  may  have  been  the  utmost  that 
was  in  their  power  to  give." 

' '  Then  they  ought  to  have  taken  him  to  the 
hospital." 

"There  was  none,  Jackie.  No  provision 
whatever  was  made  in  that  country  for  the  suf- 
fering poor ;  such  things  belong  to  Christianity. 
"Well,  '  Who,  seeing  Peter  and  John  about  to 
go  into  the  temple,  asked  an  alms.'  He  liked 
the  appearance  of  those  ministers,  I  fancy.  I 
suppose  he  said, '  They  look  kind,  and  I  shouldn't 
wonder  if  they  would  give  me  quite  a  lift." 

"I  should  say  they  did,"  chuckled  Jack,  who 
knew  the  outcome  of  the  story.  Reading  in 
this  way  you  can  see  how  long  it  might  take 
them  to  get  through  with  even  a  short  story ; 
but  Jack  thought  it  a  "  tip-top  "  way  to  read. 

He  sat  lost  in  thought  for  some  minutes  after 
the  lame  man  had  gone  leaping  into  the  temple, 
then  said,  half-doubtfully,  as  though  not  sure 
whether  it  were  just  the  proper  thing  to  say : 
*'  Uncle  Jack,  wouldn't  it  be  a  splendid  thing 
if  Peter  were  alive  now,  and  should  come  home 
from  church  with  the  folks,  and  cure  you  so 
you  could  run  all  around  ?  " 

Uncle  Jack  turned  bright  smiling  eyes  on  his 
nephew.  "You  forget,"  he  said  briskly;  "it 
wasn't  Peter  who  did  it ;  he  was  only  the  in- 
strument. You  might  as  well  call  the  cup  in 
which  you  take  your  beef  tea  the  food,  as  to 
call  Peter  the  physician  in  this  case." 

"Well,  then,"  said  Jack,  looking  resolute,  "I 
don't  understand  why  he  doesn't  cure  folks  now 
—Jesus,  I  mean.  People  say  he  is  here  all  the 
time,  though  we  can't  see  him,  and  that  he  is 
just  the  same  as  ever  he  was ;  why  don't  he 
cure  you,  Uncle  Jack,  just  as  he  cured  the  man 
at  the  temple  gate  ?  " 

"  He  has,"  said  Uncle  Jack  promptly ;  "He 
has  performed  a  much  greater  cure  for  me  than 
He  did  for  the  man  at  the  gate." 

And  then  Jack  looked  astounded.  As  though 
he  did  not  know  that  his  Uncle  Jack  had  not 
taken  a  step  in  two  years,  and  even  the  great 
surgeon  from  the  city  could  not  be  sure  if  he 
ever  would. 

The  gay  young  uncle  laughed  over  his  aston- 
ishment, then  said:  "I  see  I  shall  have  to  tell 


you  something,  Jackie.  Before  I  was  hurt  I 
was  in  a  bad  way  —  lame  not  only  in  my  feet, 
but  in  my  will  power,  which  is  much  worse.  I 
was  making  a  headlong  rush  toward  ruin,  and 
when  the  accident  happened  which  laid  me  flat 
on  my  back,  I  knew  before  many  weeks  that  it 
was  Jesus  Christ  trying  to  cure  me." 

Little  Jack  stared.  "  Couldn't  He  have  done 
it  without  that?  "  he  asked. 

"No,"  said  his  uncle  confidently;  "I  don't 
believe  He  could.  I  wouldn't  let  Him,  you  see. 
He  had  called  me  hundreds  of  times,  and  urged 
me  to  let  Him  do  the  best  things  for  me,  but  I 
wouldn't.  My  will  power,  as  I  told  you,  was 
lame,  sick  —  deathly  sick;  I  couldn't  seem  to 
want  to  be  cured,  nor  to  do  any  of  my  part  of 
the  work.  There  is  always  our  part  to  do  in  a 
cure,  you  know."  Jack  nodded,  and  remem- 
bered the  bitter  medicine  which  he  had  rebelled 
against  swallowing.  "Well,  I  wouldn't  do  my 
part ;  refused  out  and  out,  and  kept  on  refus- 
ing until  I  was  placed  on  my  back.  I  suppose 
the  Lord  Jesus  knew  that  that  only  would  bring 
me  to  my  senses,  and  give  him  a  chance  to  cure 
my  heart  sickness,  so  he  let  it  come  to  me. 
Understand  ?  " 

Jack  was  not  disposed  to  answer.  He  was 
thinking.  "Why  doesn't  He  cure  your  back 
now?  "  he  asked,  speaking  part  of  his  thought. 

His  uncle's  voice  was  a  trifle  lower,  and 
hinted  at  strong  feeling  which  was  being  con- 
trolled. "  I  believe  he  will,  Jackie,  just  as 
soon  as  it  is  best  for  me  to  be  cured.  I  think 
I  am  going  to  get  quite  well;  indeed,  I  may 
say  I  am  almost  sure  of  it,  though  the  surgeon 
is  not.  I  believe  the  Lord  Jesus  has  decided 
to  let  me  be  well  and  strong  again,  so  I  can  be 
a  witness  for  him,  as  the  lame  man  was,  you 
remember.  Why,  we  didn't  finish  the  story, 
did  we?  And  there  is  no  time  now.  Here 
come  the  people  from  church.  You  look  that 
up,  Jackie,  in  your  Bible  sometime,  and  see 
what  an  unanswerable  argument  the  man  was." 

Jack  the  younger  thought  over  the  entire 
story  later,  while  he  was  eating  his  beef  tea. 
Thought  and  thought,  and  by  a  way  which  was 
clear  to  himself,  came  at  last  to  this  point :  "I 
wonder  if  He  let  me  have  the  mumps  so  as  to 
stop  me  from  doing  different  from  what  mother 


I 


JACK'S     DECISION. 


says?  If  I  hadn't  thought  it  wouldn't  do  any 
harm  to  run  into  Judge  Howell's  a  few  minutes, 
even  after  she  had  told  me  not  to  stop  any- 
where, why,  I  suppose  I  shouldn't  have  had 
these  horrid  old  mumps.  Maybe  He  knows  it 
was  the  only  way  to  cure  me.  "Well,  I  tell  you 
what  it  is ;  I  believe  I'll  be  cured.  I  guess, 


after  this,  I'll  do  just  exactly  as  I'm  told,  and 
be  a  '  witness '  myself,  so  that  f oiks  will  begin 
to  say  of  me :  '  Jack  Campbell  won't  do  it ;  his 
folks  told  him  not  to,  and  you  can't  move  Jack 
after  that  any  more  than  you  could  a  stone 
wall.'  I  declare,  that  will  be  tip-top  fun.  I'll 
do  it !  "  PANSY. 


JACK  THOUGHT  AND  THOUGHT. 


MY   PKETTY    DEER. 


„  , 


ONLY  ONK   LEFT. 


CLAUDE'S     STORY. 


CLAUDE'S   STORY. 

LAUDE  TALMAN  was  ten 
years  old.  He  lived  in  a 
marble  house.  Its  floors  had 
costly  carpets,  and  all  the  fur- 
niture was  elegant.  His  clothes 
were  fine  and  rich;  his  food 
came  from  almost  all  parts  of  the  world.  How 
soft  was  his  bed.  Tenderly  was  he  watched 
over.  He  seemed  to  have  more  than  heart 
could  wish  —  not  his  heart,  however. 

One  day  as  he  looked  from  his  elegant  win- 
dow he  saw  a  poor  boy  passing  drawn  in  a  little 


thing  that  he  (Claude)  didn't  have?  His 
mother  reasoned  with  him,  but  all  to  no  pur- 
pose ;  he  stormed  about,  stamping  his  foot, 
saying  he  would  have  it  if  he  had  to  kill  the 
boy  to  get  it.  "When  he  got  over  his  rage 
somewhat  his  mother  said:  "You  remind  me 
of  another  Claude,  only  his  real  name  was 
Claudius." 

Then  Master  Claude  quieted  down  and  lis- 
tened, for  he  was  fond  of  stories,  and  now, he 
knew  his  mother  had  one  for  him.  So  she  went 
on  thus  :  ' '  Two  thousand  years  ago  there  lived 
a  large  family  in  the  country  that  is  now  called 
England.  Their  name  was  Briton.  They  were 


CARACTACA  BEGS  TO  BE  SKNT  HOME. 


wagon  by  a  goat ;  then  he  set  up  a  loud  cry  that 
he  must  have  that  very  wagon  and  goat.  It 
did  no  good  for  his  mother  to  promise  him  just 
as  good  an  one  if  it  could  be  found  in  the  Cen- 
tral Market,  where  almost  everything  could  be 
bought.  No,  he  must  have  that.  That  boy 
must  sell  it  to  him  or  it  must  be  taken  from 
him.  What  right  had  that  poor  boy  to  some- 


not  the  handsomest  or  wisest  folks  in  the  world, 
nor  were  they  always  gentle  among  themselves. 
Their  houses  were  mere  huts  and  their  dress 
was  the  skins  of  wild  animals.  They  were  a 
brave  people,  but  generally  minded  their  own 
business.  The  great  father  of  this  family  —  I 
should  say  one  of  the  big  brothers — was  Carac- 
tacus.  He  was  strong  and  fearless,  and  very 


THE    LONGEST    DAY. 


wise  and  good  in  his  way.  When  they  were  in 
trouble  they  went  to  him,  and  somehow  he 
always  knew  just  what  to  do.  So  they 
thought  of  him  just  as  American  people  think 
of  Washington. 

"Miles  and  miles  away  across  the  great 
waters  lived  another  family  in  an  elegant  mar- 
ble palace  "  — 

"Now  you  are  going  to  tell  a  story  about 
me,"  interrupted  Claude. 

—  "in  an  elegant   marble   palace.     Every- 
thing without  as  well  as  within  this  beautiful 
mansion  was  costly  and  wonderful.    There  was 
nothing  just  like  it  on  all  the  face  of  the  earth. 

"But  they  were  unhappy.  They  wanted 
something  more.  One  day  w;hile  they  were 
sitting  and  feasting,  dressed  in  purple  and 
fine  linen,  and  bands  of  music  were  playing, 
word  came  from  one  of  thei  *  travelers  about 
a  fair  island  far  away,  and  about  this  Briton 
family  who  owned  it,  and  were  living  there  so 
contentedly. 

' '  Then  uprose  the  father  of  the  Roman 
family  —  for  that  was  their  name  —  and  the 
music  ceased,  the  feasting  was  over,  and  the 
men  put  off  their  showy  dress  and  put  on  their 
soldier  clothes,  and  the  father  or  big  brother, 
whose  name  was  Claudius  "  — 

"Now,  mother,  more  about  me?" 

"His  name  was  Claudius,  and  he  mounted 
his  war  horse  and  blew  a  loud  blast  that  made 
the  marble  halls  ring  again,  and  with  waving 
banners  and  peals  of  music  away  marched  this 
Roman  family  to  conquer  the  Briton  family  and 
make  them  give  up  their"  — 

"  Little  wagon  and  goat?  " 

—  "give  up  their  beautiful  farm.     On  they 
went  on  foot  and  on  horse  and  by  boats  till 
they  landed  one  dark  night  and  stole  up  to  the 
back  yard  of  the  Britons. 

"Then  of. a  sudden  the  dogs  set  up  an  awful 
barking.  The  Britons — women  as  well  as  men 
and  children  —  sprang  up  in  a  jiffy,  and  a  fierce 
fight  followed.  Sometimes  the  Romans  got  the 
better,  sometimes  the  Britons ;  but  after  a  long, 
long  time,  when  many  were  killed  on  both  sides, 
six  of  Claudius'  biggest  brothers  saw  Caractacus 
fall,  and  the  blood  was  streaming  from  his  side 
by  an  arrow  wound,  and  they  leaped  upon  him 


and  bound  his  hands  behind  him,  and  led  him 
as  best  they  could  to  Claudius.  But  Caractaca, 
his  poor  wife,  followed,  begging  the  soldiers 
not  to  harm  her  suffering  husband. 

' '  When  the  brave  Britons  saw  their  leader 
fall,  and  knew  he  was  now  a  prisoner,  their 
hearts  failed  them,  and  they  fled,  many  of 
them,  far  away  into  the  forests. 

"But  Caractacus  and  his  sad  wife  were  taken 
from  their  home  and  carried  far  away  to  the 
Roman  palace  as  prisoners. 

"Now  when  they  looked  around  this  grand 
home  and  saw  all  its  richness  and  glory  they 
drew  a  deep  sigh,  Caractaca  begging  Claudius 
to  send  them  back  to  their  home,  the  brave 
Caractacus  only  saying  he  did  not  see  why  such 
a  rich  family  cared  for  the  plain  hut  he  lived  in." 

Master  Claude  never  again  insisted  upon 
having  the  littV)  Yxagon  and  goat.  Nay,  he 
helped  him  to  faster  ones.  L. 


THE   LONGEST   DAY. 

IT  is  quite  important,  when  speaking  of  the 
longest  day  in  the  year,  to  say  what  part 
of  the  world  we  are  talking  about,  as  will  be 
seen  by  reading  the  following  list,  which  tells 
the  length  of  the  longest  day  in  several  different 
places.  How  unfortunate  are  the  children  in 
Tornea,  Finland,  where  Christmas  Day  is  less 
than  three  hours  in  length ! 

At  Stockholm,  Sweden,  It  is  eighteen  and  one 
half  hours  in  length.  At  Spitz  be  rgen  the  long- 
est day  is  three  and  one  half  months.  At  Lon- 
don, England,  and  Bremen,  Prussia,  the  longest 
day  has  sixteen  and  one  half  hours.  At  Ham- 
burg in  Germany,  and  Dantzig  in  Prussia,  the 
longest  day  has  seventeen  hours.  At  Ward- 
bury,  Norway,  the  longest  day  lasts  from  May 
21  to  July  22,  without  interruption.  At  St. 
Petersburg,  Russia,  aud  Tobolsk,  Siberia,  the 
longest  day  is  nineteen  hours,  and  the  shortest 
five  hours.  At  Tornea,  Finland,  June  21 
brings  a  day  nearly  twenty-two  hours  long, 
and  Christmas  one  less  than  three  hours  in 
length.  At  New  York  the  longest  day  is  about 
fifteen  hours,  and  at  Montreal,  Canada,  it  is 
sixteen.  —  Selected. 


THREE     YOUNG     MI  S  SIGN  ARIE  S.  — AN     IDEA     THAT     GREW. 


THREE   YOUNG   MISSIONARIES. 

WHO  are  they?" 
The  one  with  his  hat  off  and  flag  in 
hand  —  his  name  is  Judson.  The  neat  little 
Miss,  her  fingers  tucked  in  that  warm  muff, 
and  her  satisfied  face  saying:  "See  what  a 
nice  big  snowball  we've  made,"  she  is  Miss 
Emily  Chubbuck,  to  be  sure.  The  third  — 
wouldn't  you  give  a  penny  to  see  his  face  ?  — 
he  looks  like  a  young  Scotch  Highlander  in 
plaids.  He  it  is  who  fixed  up  the  funny  mouth, 
nose  and  eyes,  and  is  now  putting  something 
sweeter  than  a  nasty  cigarette  into  his  snow 
mouth ;  well,  this  one  is  Master  Carey.  Now 
they  look  only  like  children  having  fun.  Not  a 
hundred  years  after  they  became  missionaries. 
Heard  you  ever  of  Carey?  Of  Adoniram 
Judson?  Of  his  wife,  Emily  Chubbuck?  L. 


FIRST   TIME   AT   CHURCH. 

A  GRAVE  sweet  wonder  in  thy  baby  face, 
And  look  of  mingled  dignity  and  grace, 
Such  as  a  painter  hand  might  love  to  trace. 

A  pair  of  trusting  innocent  blue  eyes, 

That  higher  than  the  stained-glass  window  rise, 

Into  the  fair  and  cloudless  summer  skies. 

The  people  round  her  sing,  "Above  the  sky 
There's  rest  for  little  children  when  they  die." 
To  her,  thus  gazing  up,  that  rest  seems  nigh. 

The  organ  peals ;  she  must  not  look  around, 
Although  with  wonderment  her  pulses  bound  — 
The  place  whereon  she  stands  is  holy  ground. 

The  sermon  over,  and  the  blessing  said, 

She  bows,  as  "mother"  does,  her  golden  head, 

And  thinks  of  little  sister  who  is  dead. 

She  knows  that  now  she  dwells  above  the  sky, 
Where  holy  children  enter  when  the}7  die, 
And  prays  God  take  her  there  too,  by  and  by. 

Pet,  may  He  keep  you  in  the  faith  alway, 
And  bring  you  to  that  home  for  which  you  pray, 
Where  all  shall  have  their  child  hearts  back  one 
day !  —  Selected. 


AN   IDEA   THAT    GREW. 

T  was  Nancy  and  the  book  to- 
gether which  put  the  idea  into 
Clara's  mind.  They  were  slip- 
ping along  in  the  shadows  of 
the  quiet  river,  she  and  Wal- 
lace. It  was  the  Fourth  of 
July,  and  most  of  the  boys  and  girls  of  the 
region  were  busy  with  what  firecrackers  they 
could  get  —  those  of  them  who  had  not  taken  a 
five-mile  tramp  to  the  village  to  attend  the 
celebration. 

But  Clara  was  too  old  to  care  for  firecrackers, 
and  Wallace  had  had  enough  of  them  before  he 
came ;  he  was  only  here  for  a  few  days,  and 
preferred  a  visit  with  his  sister  to  all  the  Fourth 
of  July  celebrations  that  could  be  planned.  She 
was  reading  aloud  to  him  bits  from  a  new 
book  which  he  had  brought  her  as  a  birthday 
present ;  for  the  Fourth  of  July  was  not  only 
the  birthday  of  freedom,  it  was  also  Clara's 
birthday. 

' '  O,  Wallace !  "  she  said,  ' '  this  is  a  lovely 
book."  She  had  said  the  same  thing  at  least  a 
dozen  times  that  day.  "Just  see  what  queer 
ideas  she  had,"  Clara  continued,  meaning  the 
girl  in  the  book ;  ' '  she  was  very  good  —  better 
than  anybody  I  ever  knew.  I  should  think  it 
would  be  lovely  to  do  half  the  nice  things  she 
did.  One  plan  was  to  pick  out  a  friend  — 
another  girl — and  try  to  help  her  in  every  way 
she  could.  Pray  for  her,  you  know,  and  talk 
with  her,  and  influence  her,  until  at  last  the 
girl  would  be  converted ;  then  they  two  would 
choose  two  others  to  help  in  the  same  way,  and 
they  were  going  to  see  how  large  a  circle  they 
could  make  of  that  kind.  She  thought  perhaps 
she  could  reach  all  around  the  world ;  she  was 
only  a  young  girl,  and  she  thought  if  she  lived 
to  be  a  woman  perhaps  she  could.  Wallace, 
what  are  you  laughing  at?  " 

' '  At  the  modesty  of  the  young  woman  and 
her  ideas,"  said  Wallace,  laughing  afresh. 
' '  She  hasn't  gotten  around  the  world  yet,  ] 
take  it;  I've  never  seen  anything  of  her." 

"I  am  sure  the  idea  is  beautiful,"  said  Clara, 
half-inclined  to  be  vexed  with  Wallace  for  mak- 
ing SDCW*  f*f  it.  "  And  of  course  one  could  do 


AN     IDEA     THAT     GREW. 


a  great  deal  of  good  in  that  way.    I  would  just 
like  to  try  it." 

"Why  don't  you?"  Wallace  asked,  his  eyes 
twinkling;  "I'm  sure  you  have  a  good  field 
for  work  of  the  sort  here  among  the  natives. 
Look  at  that  specimen  on  the  bank  at  this  mo- 
ment. Her  eyes  are  as  large  as  sunflowers, 
and  she  looks  as  though  she  might  take  any 
amount  of  doing  good  to  and  not  be  hurt  by  it." 

Clara  turned  around  and  stared  back  at 
Nancy  on  the  shore. 

A  little  girl  with  a  sallow,  wistful  face,  and 
great  mournful-looking  eyes.  She  had  on  a 
worn  and  faded  dress,  an  apron  which  was 
much  too  long  for  her,  but  seemed  to  have  been 
put  on  to  cover  the  deficiencies  of  the  dress. 
She  wore  neither  shoes  nor  stockings,  and  was 
hanging  tightly  by  the  two  strings  to  her  pink 
gingham  sunbonnet,  and  gazing  at  the  people 
in  the  boat  with  the  most  unutterable  longing 
in  her  eyes  that  Clara  had  ever  seen. 

"  Poor  thing !"  said  Clara;  "she  envies  us 
our  row.  I  wonder  if  she  never  has  a  chance 
to  take  a  row  on  the  river?  Only  see  how  hun- 
gry her  eyes  look." 

"It  is  more  probable  that  she  envies  you 
your  hat  and  dress,"  said  Wallace ;  "she  keeps 
her  eyes  on  them.  She  has  an  eye  to  the  beau- 
tiful, that  is  what  is  the  matter  with  her.  I  am 
not  sure  but  it  is  your  hair  she  wants  most, 
after  all,  though  hers  is  arranged  elaborately. 
She  would  make  an  excellent  beginning  for  your 
scheme,  Clara." 

"I  am  not  sure  but  she  would."  Wallace 
was  teasing,  but  his  sister  was  grave  and  in 
earnest.  "Row  toward  the  shore,  Wallace, 
and  let  me  speak  to  her ;  I  never  saw  a  child 
who  had  such  a  wistful  look. 

"Good  afternoon,  little  girl,"  she  said  pleas- 
antly, as  Wallace  obeyed  directions  and  the 
boat  drew  near,  "are  you  having  a  pleasant 
Fourth  of  July?  " 

"No,"  said  the  child,  without  hesitation  or 
ceremony. 

"Not?  I  am  very  sorry.  What  has  been 
the  trouble?  " 

."Nothing,"  said  the  child,  as  promptly  as 
before.  Then,  seeming  to  consider  something 
more  necessary,  added  :  ' '  Nothing  more  than 


always  is.  We  don't  never  have  no  pleasant 
times  to  our  house." 

"  You  see,"  said  Wallace,  in  low  tones,  nod- 
ding significantly  to  his  sister,  ' '  she  is  in  per- 
ishing need  of  being  chosen." 

"  So  she  is.  Wallace,  you  are  simply  mak- 
ing fun,  but  I  am  in  earnest.  I  wonder  what  I 
could  do  for  the  poor  little  thing?  I  have  been 
here  for  two  months,  and  haven't  clone  a  thing 
for  anybody.  I  have  tried  to  get  acquainted 
with  a  few  of  the  girls  of  my  age,  but  they  are 
shy  of  me ;  this  child  does  not  seem  to  be  shy." 

"Not  in  the  least,"  said  Wallace.  "Very 
well,  how  shall  we  commence?  Shall  I  invite 
her  to  sail  with  us  this  afternoon  as  a  sort  of 
entering  wedge  ?  " 

"Do  you  mean  it?  "  Clara  asked,  well  pleased, 
and  she  turned  again  to  Nancy.  "Do  you  ever 
go  rowing  on  the  river?  " 

"No." 

"  Why  not?     Would  not  you  like  to?  " 

"Never  had  no  chance.  We  ain't  got  no 
boat,  and  nobody  won't  lend  us  poor  folks  any ; 
and  we  don't  never  go  nowheres,  me  and  Billy." 

"  Poor  little  girl !  Who  is  Billy?  your  little 
brother?  Would  you  like  to  take  a  ride  with 
us  this  afternoon  ?  If  you  would  you  may  come 
down  to  the  landing  and  get  in  the  boat." 

The  child  stared  for  a  moment  as  though  she 
felt  her  ears  were  not  to  be  trusted,  then  turned 
and  made  a  dash  for  the  landing  below.  Wal- 
lace laughed  and  steered  the  boat  in  the  same 
direction.  A  few  moments  more  and  they  were 
off,  with  the  barefooted  Nancy  seated  comfort- 
ably beside  Clara. 

It  is  only  the  very  beginning  of  this  story 
lhat  I  have  space  for.  I  am  wondering  if  you 
Pausies  cannot  sit  down  thoughtfully  and  think 
it  out  for  yourselves,  perhaps  write  it  out.  The 
story  is  true,  and  it  happened  years  ago.  Such 
a  girl  as  Clara,  who  was  spending  a  summer  in 
a  backwoods  region,  for  reasons  which  I  need  not 
stop  here  to  explain,  and  such  a  girl  as  Nancy 
met  first  in  the  way  I  have  described ;  and  in 
the  course  of  that  afternoon  ride  Clara  heard 
enough  about  the  home  where  they  "never  had 
no  pleasant  times,"  to  make  her  heart  ache. 
The  beautiful  idea  in  the  book  kept  coming  to 
her,  or  rather  staid  with  her  and  kept  asking  if 


A    IDEA     THAT     GREW. 


she  could  not  do  something  of  the  kind  with 
this  Nancy.  To  be  sure  Nancy  was  not  like 
the  girl  chosen  in  the  book ;  she  had  been  of 
about  the  same  age  and  station  as  her  friend. 
"But  then,"  said  Clara  to  herself,  "she  did 
not  need  help  half  so  much  as  this  one  does ; 
and  I  think  with  this  kind  of  people  I  might 
help  one  younger  than  myself  better  than  one 


church  was  fi,ve  miles  away ;  where  there  was 
no  Sunday-school,  and  no  day-school  except 
for  three  months  in  the  winter.  And  Nancy, 
being  questioned,  showed  that  she  not  only  did 
not  know  what  Fourth  of  July  meant,  but  she 
did  not  know  what  Sunday  meant  in  the  true 
sense  of  the  word;  nor  did  she  know  about 
Jesus  Christ,  save  as  she  had  heard  "Pap 
swear  his  name  sometimes !  "  Did  ever  girl 
need  helping  more? 

Now  for  the  end,  so  far  as  it  can  be  said  to 
be  ended,  for  the  people  are  still  living.    Nancy 
is  a  young  woman  who  wears  the  neatest  of 
dresses  and  hats,  and  the  nicest  fitting 
boots  and  gloves.     She    is    herself 
a  teacher  in  the  day-school  in  that 
part  of  the  country  where 
her  home  has  always  been. 
The   school   is    in  session 
nine  months  of  the  year. 
She  is  a  teacher  in  the  Sun- 
day-school,   which    has    a 
room  of  its  own,  opening 
from    the    pretty    church 


ON  THE   QUIET    RIVER. 

of  my  own  age.  At  least  I  can  pray  for  her." 
Now  the  story  for  you  to  work  out  is  begun, 
and  I  will  give  you  just  a  few  more  facts,  and 
then  jump  to  the  end  of  it  —  that  is  so  far  as  I 
know  it  —  leaving  you  to  fill  up  the  blank  space. 
It  was  a  stony,  hilly,  desolate  country  side, 
where  the  people  were  very  poor,  and  were 
cursed  with  more  rum  saloons  than  with  any 
other  form  of  business ;  where  the  nearest 


where  every  Sabbath  day  the  people 
gather  to  hear  of  Jesus  Christ.     And 
Nancy's  father  is  the  superintendent 
of  the  Sunday-school !    And  there   is 
not  a  saloon  left  within  two  miles  of 
the   neighborhood ;     and   the    change 
began  that  Fourth  of  July  afternoon, 
when  Clara,  reading  from  her  new  book,  caught 
an  idea  which  grew. 

You  will  perhaps  be  glad  to  hear  that  Wal- 
lace, although  he  professed  to  be  only  amused, 
was  much  more  than  that,  and  helped  to  form 
Clara's  "circle"  so  effectually  that  he  preaches 
in  the  little  church  whenever  he  comes  to  this 
part  of  the  world  for  a  few  weeks  of  ^ vacation. 
"You  haven't  reached  around  the  world  yet," 
he  said  to  Clara  not  long  ago ;  "  but  I  am  not 
sure  but  you  will.  Do  you  know  that  boy  Billy 
wants  to  be  a  missionary  and  go  to  China  ?  " 
Billy  is  Nancy's  youngest  brother. 
Now  see  if  you  can  plan  ways  by  which  Clara 
may  have  helped  to  bring  about  such  changes. 
No,  better  than  that ;  look  about  you  and  see 
what  you  can  do  to  make  a  circle  of  good  that 
shall  reach  —  as  far  as  it  can.  PANSY. 


THKEE    YOUNG    MISSIONARIES. 


TEACHING     THE     CHINESE. 


TEACHING   THE   CHINESE. 

ND  so  you  thought  the  Chinese 
do  not  know  anything  ? 

Look  into  this  school;  see 
wise  Mr.  Ah  Lee  sitting  before 
his  thirteen  youngsters.  See 
how  bright  they  look.  And 
surely  they  know  how  to  get  as  much  fun  out 
of  a  cat's  tail  and  get  rapped  over  the  knuckles 


mastering  Chinese  so  they  can  converse  with 
the  people  and  preach  the  Gospel  to  them. 
The  trouble  is  that  a  word  may  mean  one  of  a 
dozen  different  things,  just  as  you  happen  to 
give  it  this  tone  (sound)  or  that.  » 

A  Mr.  Meadows  once  wished  to  say  ' '  bargain 
money  "  to  a  Chinaman.  He  used  the  proper 
Chinese  word  for  it,  but  pronounced  it  as 
though  it  meant  to  the  Chinaman  ' '  Do  you 
hear?  do  you  hear?"  And  what  said  John 


A   CHINESE   SCHOOL. 


as  hard  as  any  American  boy.     Yes,  they  sit 
upon  the   floor,  and  they  don't  seem  to  have 


Chinaman?      Just    nothing   at   all,    but   came 
nearer  and    nearer  to   Mr.  Meadows,  turning 


blackboards    and   maps    and  many  other  nice     one  side  of  his  head  then  the  other  to  listen. 


school  contrivances,  but  they  manage  somehow 
to  learn  one  of  the  most  difficult  languages 
in  the  world. 


Once  Mr.  Pohlman  asked  a  Chinese  family  if 
they  drank  wine,  but  he  pronounced  the  word 
wine  (tsen)  so  it  sounded  to  them  like  their 


Our  poor  missionaries  do  have  such  a  time  in     word  for  land  (fseri) . 


WHEN    HE     WAS     TWELVE     YEARS     OLD. 


At  another  time  he  asked  a  mourning  family 
if  they  had  buried  (tdl)  the  body  of  their  dead 
grandmother.  But  he  sounded  it  t'ai,  which 
means  to  kill.  Imagine  their  looks. 

But  the  missionaries  work  away  at  the  queer 
Chinese  words  and  tones  until  they  can  tell 
the  "old  story"  plainly  —  and  hundreds  have 
heard  and  understood,  and  now  believe. 

You  know  how  hard  it  is  for  the  Chinaman 
to  speak  our  language.  He  says  "  Amelican" 
for  American,  our  r  is  so  difficult  for  him  to  get. 

But  the  time  is  coming  when  every  one  of 
God's  family  will  know  the  one  great  language, 
and  there  will  be  no  hard  schoolmaster  to  scold 
or  whip  it  into  them.  L. 


WHEN  HE  WAS  TWELVE  YEARS  OLD. 

OUR  little  lad,  our  bonnie  twelve-year-old, 
Has  journeyed  to  the  city  of  the  King ; 
Our  happy  boy  —  ere  heart  could  grow  a-cold, 

Or  soul  turn  bitter — in  youth's  joyous  spring, 
Went  up  to  keep  the  feast  in  that  bright  place, 

City  of  Peace,  where  restful  mansions  be ; 
And  straightway  looking  on  the  dear  King's  face, 
Remembered  naught  but  joy  that  face  to  see  ! 

Long  time  ago,  when  He  was  twelve  years  old, 

The  Holy  Child  climbed  fair  Judea's  hills, 
And  his  young  mother  in  her  heart  did  hold 

Strange  words  concerning  him,  whose  mys- 

stery  fills 

Her  soul  with  wonder.  —  On  their   homeward 
way, 

The  reverent  pilgrims  haste ;  and  sorrowing 
She  seeks  her  Son,  and  lo,  in  calm  delay, 

He  lingered  in  the  temple  of  the  King ! 

She,  coming  to  the  sacred  portal,  waits 

With  tear-wan  face ;  her  fair  first-born  she 

seeks ; 

Weary  and  grief-worn,  at  the  shining  gates, 
With  faltering  lips  his  sweet  home- name  she 

speaks, 

And  He  is  in  her  arms !  —  With  tender  word 
Of  gentlest  chiding,  each  to  each  revealed 
The  love  that  to  the  depths  of  feeling  stirred 
Hearts  that  brief  absence  near  and  dearer 
sealed. 


O  mother,  mourning  for  thy  fair  first-born, 

He  tarries  in  his  Father's  House  of  Light, 
With  God's  beloved ;  and  thou  in  some  glad 
morn, 

Finding  the  glorious  gates  beyond  the  night, 
Shalt  breathe  his  name,  and  ere  it  leaves  thy 
lips, 

In  thy  dear  arms,  aglow  with  life  and  joy, 
All  strong  and  beautiful  —  death's  long  eclipse 

Forgotten  in  the  first  kiss  of  thy  boy ! 

ROSA.    EVANGELINE    ANGEL. 


MISS  HALSEY  read  a  letter  from  Miss 
Patton,  of  India,  who  after  wittily  de- 
scribing some  of  the  daily  trials  of  housekeep- 
ing there,  between  her  rising  hour,  five  o'clock, 
and  that  of  reaching  her  first  school,  says : 

"  This  school,  over  a  mile  away,  is  upstairs  in 
a  large  house  in  an  alley.  The  children  looked 
so  nice  and  bright  this  morning,  I  wish  you 
could  see  them.  Prayers  are  over,'  so  I  begin 
by  taking  the  wee  tots  in  the  first  class  and 
teach  them  the  Lord's  Prayer.  Then  I  take 
class  after  class  until  half-past  nine,  when  with 
pony  and  queer  little  two-wheeled  tonga  I  go 
on  about  half  a  mile  to  the  other  school.  There 
I  teach  until  nearly  eleven  and  then  drive  home 
to  breakfast,  after  which  we  have  English 
prayers.  By  that  time  the  gun  has  gone  off, 
and  that  means  twelve  o'clock.  The  gun  is 
the  signal  for  our  servants  and  native  Chris- 
tians living  near  to  come  in  and  have  Marathi 
prayers. 

"  Then  I  teach  my  servants  to  read,  and  ask 
a  few  questions  in  the  Catechism,  then  teach 
the  Christian  girls  and  young  women  whom 
we  want  to  train  for  Bible  women,  from  two 
until  three  P.  M.  At  three  o'clock  we  have  a 
cup  of  tea  and  some  bread  and  butter;  then 
I  am  free  to  settle  '  cases '  and  hear  '  tales  of 
woe  '  until  half-past  four,  when  I  go  into  town  to 
teach  the  women  and  girls  in  the  zenanas.  I  get 
home  in  time  to  have  a  good  bath  and  get  into 
a  fresh  dress  before  dinner  at  half -past  seven. 
After  dinner  we  talk  over  our  experiences  and 
plans  of  work,  and  sometimes  one  reads  aloud 
while  the  rest  of  us  sew  until  it  is  time  to  retire, 
generally  an  early  hour."  —  Interior. 


AN   OLD-TIME    WARKIOR. 


THE   MILKY    WAY. 


YOUNG    FOLKS     OF     ALASKA. 


YOUNG  FOLKS   OF  ALASKA. 

THIS  face  is  not  like  yours,  but  more  like 
some  of  the  young  folks  of  Alaska.  Of 
course  you  want  to  know  a  bit  about  the  boys 
and  girls  away  off  there. 

Here  it  is  from  Mrs.  Cady,  who  was  there  not 
long  ago : 

"Mr.  Austin,  the  missionary,  and  these  boys 
dragged  all  the  timber  by  ropes  to  build  the 
first  house. 

"The  Sabbath  evening  service  was  opened 
by  a  fine  anthem,  these  boys  and  girls  being 
among  the  singers.  Mr.  Austin  read  a  Psalm 
in  p]nglish,  which  was  interpreted  by  a  boy 
fourteen  years  old. 

"  He  asked  a  girl  twelve  years  old  to  offer  the 
closing  prayer,  and  she  expressed  it  beautifully 
in  English. 

"They  are  very  polite.  If  a  boy  taps  at  the 
door  his  hat  is  off  before  the  door  is  opened. 
Their  table  manners  are  good.  One  boy  is 
head  waiter. 

' '  He  can  offer  thanks  or  call  upon  some  other 
boy  to  do  so,  or  sing  a  blessing." 

Of  course  you  ought  to  know  just  how  the 


AN   ALASKA    CHILD. 


grandmothers  of  these  bright  Alaska  children 
look.  Our  picture  will  enable  you  to  judge 
somewhat  of  their  appearance.  L. 


ALASKAN   WOMEN. 


BABY'S     CORNER. 


BABY'S    CORNER.  Now  Tabby  had  never  seen  a  trap,  and  she 

said  to  herself : 

POOR  TABBY.  "Why,  here    is    a   pretty  little   house!     It 

must  be  for  me ;   I  will  walk  right  in.     How 
ABBY  thought  she  was  a  very     nice  !  " 

smart  cat,  but  there  were  some         So  she  stepped  in.     Snap  !    went  the  door,, 
rats   living    in   the   barn  who     shut !    and  there  poor  Puss  was  in  prison, 
knew  almost  as  much  as  Tabby         She  tried  to  get  out,  but  she  could  not.     She 
did  herself.  cried,  but  nobody  came  to  let  her  out. 

One  morning  Tabby  went  to  the  barn.    She         While   she   sat   there  feeling  sad,  two  rats 


THE  GRAY  RAT  TANTALIZES  TABBT. 


had  tried  for  days  to  catch  a  rat,  but  just 
as  she  got  her  paw  out  to  strike  one  off  he 
scampered.  "  To-day  I  shall  get  the  old  gray 
rat,  see  if  I  don't,"  said  Tabby  to  herself  as 
she  walked  down  the  path. 

She  stepped  softly  into  the  door.  But 
what  was  this  new  shining  thing  she  saw? 

Why,  Farmer  Jones  had  put  a  big  trap  there 
to  catch  the  rats. 


came  and  looked  at  her.  The  old  gray  one, 
as  he  stood  on  his  hind  legs,  said : 

"Aha!  I  see;  I  see!  Anybody,  who  goes 
into  that  door  does  not  come  out.  I  shall 
never  go  in." 

By  and  by  Tommy  Jones  missed  his  pussy 
and  went  to  the  barn  to  look  for  her. 

Oh !  was  not  Tabby  glad  to  see  him  coming? 
MRS.  C.  M.  LIVIKGSTON. 


DAVIE'S     WITNESSES. 


DAVIE'S   WITNESSES. 

T  was  Fourth  of  July  morning, 
and  Davie  Carson  had  been  up 
since  a  good  while  before  the 
sun,  not  firing  crackers  and 
torpedoes,  nor  watching  the 
firing  of  the  great  cannon,  but 
doing  the  chores.  He  was  in  tremendous  haste. 
An  entire  holiday  was  a  thing  he  did  not  have 
twice  in  a  year.  A  hard-working  boy  was 
Davie,  with  not  only  his  own  bread  to  earn, 
but  with  a  great  longing  in  his  heart  to  help 
earn  the  bread  of  two  sisters  and  a  brother 
younger  than  himself.  He  lived  in  a  small  vil- 
lage where  there  was  little  chance  of  a  boy  of 
his  age  earning  much.  The  best  that  he  had 
been  able  to  do,  so  far,  was  to  seize  odd  jobs 
as  they  happened  along ;  or  rather  as  he  hunted 
them  out.  Not  very  pleasant  jobs,  all  of  them. 
Davie  liked  horses,  and  was  glad  of  a  chance 
to  lead  Dr.  Bristol's  to  water ;  but  to  like  to 
clean  out  their  stalls  was  another  thing.  But 
he  knew  how  to  do  this  work,  and  did  it  well, 
and  had  put  on  his  great  work  apron  this  morn- 
ing for  the  purpose  of  taking  that  job  next. 

It  was  his  last  one  for  the  morning ;  after 
that  breakfast,  and  then  a  four-mile  brisk  run 
to  the  next  village  to  the  Fourth  of  July  cele- 
bration. His  mother  had  not  made  the  least 
objection  to  his  staying  to  the  celebration.  On 
the  contrary  she  had  said  heartily :  "  I  am  glad 
the  doctor  wants  an  errand  done  there ;  it  will 
give  you  a  good  excuse  for  going.  Of  course 
you  may  stay,  and  welcome ;  and  I'll  put  you 
up  a  nice  Fourth  of  July  lunch ;  and  if  there  is 
something  to  see,  or  to  buy,  that  doesn't  cost 
more  than  ten  cents,  you  just  have  it,  or  see  it, 
whichever  it  is.  You  deserve  a  treat,  Davie." 
Davie  laughed  gleefulty.  It  was  pleasant  to 
hear  his  mother  speak  such  words,  but  he 
had  a  very  different  plan.  Hurried  as  he  had 
been  that  morning,  he  leaned  on  his  spade  and 
thought  it  all  out.  In  the  village  where  the 
celebration  was  to  be  was  a  large  book  store, 
where  he  had  once  or  twice  been  sent  on  errands 
for  Dr.  Bristol,  and  had  feasted  his  eyes  upon 
the  rows  and  rows  of  books  and  magazines, 
and  thought  what  a  thing  it  would  be  to  have  a 


chance  to  handle  them.  The  day  before,  while 
holding  the  horses  and  waiting  for  the  doctor, 
his  eyes  had  rested  on  an  advertisement  in 
the  paper  —  WANTED:  A  BOY.  Then  had 
followed  a  brief  statement  of  the  kind  of  boy, 
and  what  his  duties  would  be,  and  the  whole 
was  signed  by  the  proprietor  of  the  book  store. 

Davie's  cheeks  had  glowed  so  while  reading 
it,  that  the  doctor,  returning  just  then,  had 
looked  hard  at  him,  and  asked  him  if  he  was 
getting  up  a  fever.  The  splendid  plan  which 
the  boy  had  thought  out  leaning  on  his  shovel 
was,  that  he  would  clip  around  to  the  book 
store  the  moment  the  doctor's  errand  was  done, 
and  try  for  that  place  ! 

To  be  sure  there  was  hardly  a  possibility  that 
he  would  succeed,  but  then  he  might,  and  cer- 
tainly he  would  never  accomplish  anything  if 
he  did  not  try.  But  he  did  not  mean  to  let  any 
body  know  of  his  ambitions,  so  he  had  only  a 
laugh  for  his  mother's  suggestion, 

"  If  I  g«t  a  chance  to  see  the  procession  and 
hear  the  music  and  a  few  such  things  it  will  be 
all  the  lark  I  want,"  he  said  cheerily,  "except 
the  lunch ;  I'll  be  sure  to  want  that.  You  are 
sure  you  can  get  along  without  me  for  such  a 
long  time?  " 

"O,  yes,  indeed!  "  the  mother  said,  smiling 
back  on  him.  It  was  so  like  her  Davie  to  think 
of  mother. 

Davie  made  good  speed  over  the  road,  though 
it  was  up  hill  and  dusty,  and  the  day  was  warm. 
He  believed  himself  to  be  in  ample  time  to  see 
the  parade  which  was  to  be  made  in  honor  of 
the  day.  At  the  corner  he  halted  and  glanced 
wistfully  toward  the  book  store ;  it  was  within 
half  a  block  of  him,  and  who  knew  but  that  if 
he  should  appear  so  early  in  the  day  he  might 
get  ahead  of  somebody? 

"No,  it  can't  be  done,"  he  said  at  last, 
speaking  aloud  and  firmly.  "Davie  Carson, 
I  am  ashamed  of  you !  A  package  of  medicine 
in  your  pocket  that  the  doctor  said  an  old  lady 
was  anxiously  waiting  for,  and  you  thinking 
about  stopping  on  an  errand  of  your  own. 
Just  march  down  to  Coleman  Street  as  fast  as 
your  feet  can  carry  you  !  " 

And  the  order  was  meekly  obeyed.  Here  he 
was  detained  for  minutes  which  seemed  like 


DAVIE'S     WITNESSES. 


hours  to  him.  The  sound  of  martial  music  was 
heard  in  the  near  distance,  and  people  all  along 
the  streets  were  dodging  to  the  doors  to  see  if 
anything  was  to  be  seen;  but  the  old  lady's 
daughter  wanted  to  write  a  note  to  the  doctor 
to  send  back  by  Davie.  She  would  not  be  a 
minute,  she  said ;  but  she  was. 

"I  might  call  for  the  note  on  my  way  home," 
Davie  timidly  suggested.  But  she  said,  "  O, 
no !  that  was  not  worth  while ;  she  could  just 
as  well  write  it  now,  and  make  sure  of  it ;  she 
would  have  it  ready  very  soon."  And  the 
sound  of  music  drew  nearer  and  nearer,  until 
it  passed  the  corner  and  faded  in  the  distance ; 
and  the  note  was  ready  at  last. 

Davie  crowded  it  into  his  pocket,  tried  to 
listen  respectfully  to  several  messages  besides, 
and  went  down  the  stairs  three  steps  at  a  time 
to  follow  that  fading  music.  The  street  was 
nearly  deserted ;  all  the  boys  had  rushed  out  of 
sight  with  the  procession.  Davie  took  long 
strides  in  the  same  direction,  and  wondered  if 
it  would  be  improper  to  break  into  a  run. 

Appearing  at  that  moment  around  the  corner 
ahead  of  him  was  a  belated  group  —  a  father, 
mother  and  two  children ;  odd-looking  people, 
queerly  dressed,  and  seeming  to  be  entirely  out 
of  place  in  a  town. 

"Halloo!  what's  the  matter  now?"  An- 
other corner  had  been  reached  and  turned  by  the 
people  ahead  of  him,  with  the  exception  of  the 
youngest  of  the  group,  who  had  tumbled  down ; 
it  was  her  outcry  which  roused  him.  He  picked 
her  up,  brushing  the  dust  and  soil  from  her 
clothes,  straightening  the  much  bent  sunbonnet, 
and  urging  her  not  to  cry,  that  they  would  find  the 
others  in  a  jiffy.  She  stopped  crying  the  mo- 
ment she  discovered  herself  in  kind  hands,  and 
looked  confidingly  at  Davie  out  of  great  blue 
eyes,  and  slipped  her  small  brown  hand  into  his 
with  great  satisfaction.  Then  they  two  turned 
the  corner,  and  were  at  once  in  a  crowd.  The 
thing  which  astonished  and  troubled  him  was, 
that  the  father  and  mother  and  older  sister  of  his 
little  girl  seemed  to  have  disappeared.  For  a 
weary  half-hour  the  two  jostled  against  the 
crowd  and  stared  and  hunted.  At  last  there 
darted  toward  him  an  angry  father,  talking 
broken  English  in  loud  tones,  followed  by  an 


angrier  mother  and  a  crying  little  girl.  "  What 
was  he  doing  with  Gretchen  ?  How  dare  he  steal 
their  Gretchen  and  make  off  with  her !  Bad, 
wicked  boy !  The  police  should  know  all  about 
it,  that  they  should  !  "  In  vain  Davie  tried  to  ex- 
plain ;  they  were  too  excited  and  frightened  to 
listen  to  explanations.  In  the  midst  of  Davie's 
attempts  two  well-dressed  boys  standing  near, 
broke  into  laughter,  and  so  confused  him  that  he 
stopped  short,  and  the  enraged  family  trudged 
away,  his  little  girl  in  his  arms,  and  the  father 
shaking  his  head  at  Davie.  But  the  little  girl 
looked  back  and  smiled  lovingly  on  him. 

Then  Davie  found  that  the  crowd  were  trying 
to  get  near  the  band  stand. 

"  Come  this  way,"  said  one  of  the  boys  who 
had  laughed,  touching  his  shoulder;  "there  is  a 
chance  to  slip  in  behind  here  and  get  a  first-rate 
position."  Davie  thanked  them,  and  was  just 
going  to  slip  in,  when  a  little  girl  who  was  fly- 
ing past,  going  in  the  opposite  direction  from 
the  pushing  crowd,  jostled  against  him,  and  as 
she  did  so  dropped  from  under  her  arm  a  small 
package.  Davie  picked  it  up  and  looked  eagerly 
after  the  girl,  shouting,  "Hold  on,  you've  lost 
something !  "  But  she  flew  like  the  wind. 

"  You  can't  catch  her,"  said  a  man ;  "she  is 
lost  in  the  jam  by  this  time.  You  may  as  well 
pocket  the  bundle  and  call  it  Fourth  of  July  luck." 

"And  you  will  lose  your  chance  in  here  if 
you  don't  come  this  minute,"  said  one  of  the 
boys,  trying  to  keep  a  way  open  for  him. 

"Thank  you,"  said  Davie,  "but  I  think  I 
ought  to  find  the  little  girl,"  saying  which  he 
struck  into  the  crowd,  and  began  his  search. 

It  was  several  hours  afterwards  that  a  boy 
who  was  very  tired,  and  who,  if  he  had  not 
been  so  disappointed,  would  have  been  hungry, 
came  out  of  the  handsome  book  store  and  with 
slow  steps  started  for  his  long  walk  home.  He 
had  delivered  the  medicine  for  which  he  came 
in  the  first  place ;  he  had  the  note  for  the  doc- 
tor safe  in  his  pocket ;  he  had  picked  up  a  little 
German  girl,  and  after  much  trouble  given  her 
back  to  a  father  who  was  angry  at  him  about 
it ;  he  had  followed  a  little  girl,  or  rather  fol- 
lowed the  road  over  which  she  vanished,  for 
two  weary  hours,  and  at  last  found  her  and 
restored  the 'lost  parcel,  only  to  hear  her  laugh 


DAVIE'S     WITNESSES. 


gleefully  and  declare  that  there  was  nothing  in 
it  but  some  dried-up  sandwiches,  which  he  was 
welcome  to  if  he  wanted  them.  And  not  a 
glimpse  of  procession,  or  sound  of  martial 
music  or  voice  of  public  speaker  had  he  seen 
or  heard  that  day,  save  the  few  strains  in  the 
distance  which  had  lured  him  in  the  morning. 

Moreover,  he  had  called  at  the  book  store  only 
to  have  the  proprietor  shake  his  head  and  say : 
"  Of  course,  my  boy,  I  couldn't  engage  you  for 
such  a  place  as  this  without  references.  For 
whom  do  you  work  when  you  are  at  home  ?  " 

Davie  explained  that  they  had  been  but  a 
short  time  in  that  part  of  the  country ;  he  had 
no  regular  place,  but  did  odd  jobs  for  Dr. 
Bristol  —  cleaned  out  the  stable  and  such  things. 
No,  Dr.  Bristol  did  not  know  much  about  him  — 
nobody  did  but  mother — and  he  had  not  known 
that  a  recommendation  would  be  needed. 

' '  I  might  just  as  well  have  staid  at  home 
and  helped  mother,"  said  Davie,  as  he  walked 
slowly,  with  head  down.  "I've  lost  a  day, 
and  gained  nothing  at  all.  I  wish  I  had  —  no, 
I  don't  either.  I  did  what  I  thought  was  right. 
I'm  glad  I  did  it."  Whereupon  Davie  whistled. 

"Who  was  that  boy,  father,  and  what  did  he 
want  ?  "  A  young  man  asked  the  question  of 
the  bookseller  as  he  came  back  to  his  parlor ; 
he  liked  the  looks  of  the  boy. 

"Do  you  know  anything  about  him?"  replied 
the  father,  and  before  he  could  answer  a  bright- 
faced  little  girl  chimed  in  :  "  O,  Unc'e  Edward  ! 
what  is  his  name?  Don't  you  know?  I'm  so 


sorry  if   you  don't;  papa  wants  to  know  it.'* 

"No,  sir,"  said  the  young  man;  "I  don't 
know  him ;  but  he  is  the  chap  I  was  telling  you 
about  who  wandered  around  with  that  little 
German  girl,  and  took  patiently  a  hard  scold- 
ing from  the  father  afterwards,  and  a  laugh 
from  two  well-dressed,  thoughtless  boys." 

"Is  he,  indeed?"  said  the  father;  "I  wish 
I  had  known  it." 

Then  the  little  girl :  "And  O,  Uncle  Edward ! 
don't  you  think  he  is  the  very  same  boy  who 
hunted  after  me  for  two  hours  to  give  me  those 
sandwiches.  Papa  said  I  was  a  little  dunce 
not  to  ask  his  name ;  that  he  ought  to  be  re- 
warded for  honesty  and  faithfulness." 

"I  know  his  name,"  said  Uncle  Edward, 
"  and  I  believe  I  will  reward  him." 

The  next  morning,  when  Davie  was  out  in 
the  little  garden  hoeing  and  whistling,  a  strange 
thing  happened  to  him;  he  received  a  letter — 
the  first  letter  with  his  name  on  the  envelope 
which  he  had  ever  received.  It  was  short  and 
to  the  point : 

After  you  left  me  yesterday  two  witnesses  to  your  honesty 
and  faithfulness,  as  well  as  to  your  good  temper  under  provo- 
cation, called  upon  me,  and  made  me  decide  to  give  you  a 
month's  trial  in  the  store  if  you  still  wish  the  situation.  Call 
on  me  to-day  if  possible;  if  not,  to-morrow  will  do. 

Yours  sincerely,  EDWARD  HAMMOND. 

"  Mother,"  said  Davie,  as  they  went  all  over 
the  plans  for  the  third  time,  "  who  could  have 
called  on  him  who  knows  anything  about  me? 
I  can't  imagine."  PANSY. 


A    SUMMKK   DAY    IX    THE   COUNTUY. 


A    STITCH   AT   A   TIME. 


ABOUT     ST.     AUGUSTINE. 


ABOUT   ST.    AUGUSTINE. 


BY    THE    PANSIES. 


HE  way  it  came  to  be  called  St. 
Augustine  was  this :  it  used 
to  be  named  Seloy  on  the  river 
Dolphins.  That  was  when  it 
belonged  to  the  Indians.  The 
French  people  named  the  river, 
and  they  gave  it  that  name  because  they  saw  a 
great  many  dolphins  playing  in  the  mouth  of 
the  river.  After  awhile  the  Spaniards  came 
and  took  the  town  on  the  day  which  was  sacred 
to  their  saint,  Augustine,  so  they  named  both 
town  and  river  San  Augustin. 

RUFUS  HUNTER. 


IN  the  American  Revolution  Florida  was  the 
only  colony  which  was  loyal  to  the  king.  When 
they  heard  the  news  of  the  Declaration  of  In- 
dependence they  burned  John  Hancock  and 
Samuel  Adams  in  effigy,  calling  them  rebels. 
After  that  some  of  the  "Liberty  Boys,"  as  our 
soldiers  were  called,  stole  powder  from  the 
British  brig  Betsey,  which  lay  at  anchor  at  San 
Augustin  and  slipped  away  with  it,  to  be  used 
at  Bunker  Hill. 

HARVEY  DENNISON. 


I  READ  about  the  services  which  they  used  to 
hold  in  St.  Augustine  on  Palm  Sunday.  They 
marched  from  the  church  to  the  platform  of  the 
convent,  where  was  a  beautiful  altar  trimmed 
with  flowers  and  fruits.  The  congregation 
knelt  on  the  ground  while  the  priest  said  mass, 
then  the  nuns  took  baskets  of  rose  petals  which 
were  brought  by  many  little  children  in  the 
procession,  and  strewed  them  before  the  altar 
in  honor  of  the  Virgin. 

LAURA  EASTMAN. 


I  LIKE  to  read  about  St.  Augustine  when  it 
was  a  walled  town  with  earthworks  and  batteries ; 
when  you  had  to  enter  the  town  through  the 
great  gate  or  by  the  drawbridge.  At  sunset  a 
gun  was  fired,  which  meant  that  the  bridge  was 
raised,  the  gate  barred,  and  both  were  guarded 
by  soldiers.  I  can  imagine  them  pacing  back 


and  forth  challenging  people  who  passed. 
"  Centinela  alerta,"  they  said,  and  "  Alerta 
esta,"  answered  the  outsider  if  he  knew  enough. 
I  think  it  must  have  been  great  fun.  I  should 
like  to  understand  the  Spanish  language,  the 
words  have  such  a  musical  sound.  But  the 
outsider  might  say  "Alerta  esta"  as  much  as 
he  liked,  after  the  gates  were  closed  he  could 
not  get  into  the  town  until  next  morning,  no 
matter  if  his  home  was  just  the  other  side  of 
the  gate.  Once  in  a  long  time  came  a  messen- 
ger with  news  for  the  governor  so  important 
that  for  him  they  would  open  the  gate ;  but 
this  was  very  unusual. 

JOHN  L.  PARKER. 


THEY  had  one  fashion  in  St.  Augustine  in 
the  early  days  when  the  town  was  ruled  by 
Spaniards  which  might  work  pretty  well  nowa- 
days in  some  places.  When  a  fellow  became  a 
great  nuisance,  would  not  work,  and  disturbed 
people  by  making  noises  in  the  streets,  and 
things  of  that  kind,  they  used  to  make  him 
dress  himself  in  some  ridiculous  fashion,  put 
him  at  the  head  of  a  procession  made  up  of 
anybody  who  wanted  to  join  it  and  help  make 
fun  of  him ;  then  the  drum  and  fife  started  up 
and  he  was  marched  out  of  the  town,  and  he 
could  not  come  back  again. 

HELEN  DUNNING. 


I  WENT  with  my  father  and  mother  to  St. 
Augustine  only  last  winter.  We  went  througf 
the  Ponce  de  Leon,  which  I  think  must  be  the 
finest  hotel  in  the  world.  It  is  built  of  some 
kind  of  stuff  that  glitters  in  the  sun,  and  lookf 
in  the  shade  as  if  it  were  blue,  and  the  trim- 
mings are  of  terra  cotta.  The  floors  of  the 
halls  are  inlaid  with  little  bits  of  marble,  and 
the  marble  columns  everywhere  make  you  think 
for  a  minute  that  you  are  stepping  into  an  art, 
gallery  instead  of  a  hotel.  The  rotunda  is  just 
lovely !  It  has  eight  oak  pillars  to  support  it, 
each  beautifully  carved.  The  rotunda  is  four 
stories  high,  and  has  corridors  on  each  story 
with  more  columns  and  lovely  arches.  The 
dome  has  wonderful  paintings  and  carved  fig- 
ures, giving  in  pictures  the  history  of  Spain 
and  France.  You  can  look  straight  up  through 


ABOUT    ST.     AUGUSTINE. 


an  opening  to  the  great  copper  columns  which 
form  the  lantern  at  the  top.  The  large  parlor 
is  perfectly  splendid.  It  is  a  hundred  and  four 
feet  long,  and  fifty-three  feet  wide ;  but  there 
are  arches  and  portieres,  so  that  it  can  be 
divided  into  five  rooms  whenever  the  people 
wish.  It  is  magnificently  furnished.  I  think, 
however,  that  the  great  dining-room  is  really 
more  beautiful  than  the  parlor.  More  than 
eight  hundred  people  can  take  dinner  there  at 
one  time,  and  you  can  look  out  of  the  windows 
at  lovely  orange  groves,  and  hear  the  mocking- 
birds singing,  and  there  is  a  band  of  music  which 
always  plays  while  the  dinner  is  being  served. 
ANNA  WHEELER  AUSTIN. 


A  BAND  of  singers  used  to  go  about  the  streets 
of  old  St.  Augustine  on  Easter  eve,  playing  on 
their  violins  and  guitars,  and  stopping  under 
the  windows  to  sing  : 

"  Disciarem  lu  dot, 

Cantarem  anb  alagria, 
Y  n'arem  a  da 

Las pascuas  a  Maria," 

It  seems  almost  impossible  to  sing  such 
queer-sounding  words,  but  translated  they 
mean: 

"  Ended  the  days  of  sadness, 

Grief  gives  place  to  singing ; 
We  come  with  joy  and  gladness, 

Our  gifts  to  Mary  bringing." 

MARY  GEDDIS. 


IN  the  year  1821  Spain  gave  Florida  to  the 
United  States,  the  old  yellow  flag  of  Spain  was 
taken  down  forever,  and  in  its  place  our  own 
beautiful  stars  and  stripes  floated  over  the  old 
town.  I  wonder  if  the  people  living  there  knew 
enough  to  shout  for  joy? 

HENRY  STUART. 


IT  is  all  very  well  for  my  brother  to  talk 
about  the  people  shouting  for  joy  when  the 
stars  and  stripes  floated  over  their  town ;  but  I 
guess  he  forgets  what  an  awful  time  they  had 
only  about  fifteen  years  later,  when  the  Semi- 
nole  War  broke  out.  That  was  because  the 
new  people  who  had  come  in  wanted  the  lands 
which  had  always  belonged  to  the  Indians,  and 


wanted  them  driven  further  West.  For  the  next 
seven  years  I  think  the  people  had  reason  to  be 
sorry  that  they  had  ever  seen  the  stars  and 
stripes.  Not  but  that  I  love  the  old  flag  as 
well  as  my  brother  does,  but  I  think  the  Indians 
were  ill-treated.  It  makes  me  very  sad  to  read 
how  they  were  at  last  cheated  into  a  surrender, 
and  carried  away  by  force  from  the  land  they 
loved  so  well. 

CHARLES  MORTON  STUART. 


MY  sister  Anna  thought  the  hotel  was  the 
nicest  part  of  St.  Augustine,  but  I  liked  the 
old  fort  the  best.  It  used  to  be  Fort  San 
Marco,  but  when  the  United  States  got  hold  of 
it,  they  named  it  Fort  Marion,  after  General 
Francis  Marion.  I  would  like  to  describe  it, 
but  I  don't  understand  just  how.  It  is  in  shape 
what  is  called  a  polygon,  and  has  a  moat  all 
around  it.  The  stone  or  shell  of  which  it  is 
built  is  used  a  great  deal  in  St.  Augustine,  or 
used  to  be ;  it  is  called  coquina.  I  think  the 
narrow  streets  and  queer-looking  old  houses  are 
much  more  interesting  than  the  new  streets, 
which  are  just  like  any  other  city.  At  least  I 
liked  them  better ;  but  girls  always  like  elegant 
hotels  and  splendid  furniture  and  all  such  things. 
GEORGE  WHEELER  AUSTIN. 


MY  mother  used  to  live  in  St.  Augustine  years 
ago.  She  has  told  me  a  good  deal  about  the 
streets,  and  the  sea  wall,  and  the  little  old 
houses.  She  has  described  St.  George  Street 
and  Tolomato  Street  until  it  seems  to  me  I 
could  find  my  way  up  and  down  them  almost  as 
well  as  she  could.  But  mother  says  things  are 
very  much  changed  since  she  was  there ;  she 
reads  in  the  papers  about  the  beautiful  new 
hotels,  and  says  it  does  not  seem  possible  they 
are  in  old  St.  Augustine.  The  old  streets  were 
very  narrow ;  I  suppose  they  are  still.  Next 
winter  I  am  going  there  to  see  things  for  myself. 

SARAH  CASTLETON. 


[The  Pansies  have  seemed  chiefly  interested  this  month  in 
the  history  of  old  St.  Augustine,  rather  than  in  a  description 
of  the  city.  But  I  think  our  readers  will  agree  with  me  that 
they  have  managed  to  crowd  a  good  deal  of  information  into  a 
small  space.  Sorry  we  have  not  room  for  all  they  said.  — 
EDITORS.] 


REUBEN     AS     AN    ERRAND     BOY. 


REUBEN   AS   AN   ERRAND   BOY. 


(Character  Studies.) 


and 
him, 


EUBEN  MINOR  was  in  his  own 
room  in  his  shirt  sleeves,  and 
the  sleeves  rolled  to  his  elbows. 
His  paste  pot  was  on  the  table, 
sheets  of  paper  and  scraps  of 
pasteboard  were  on  the  floor, 
Reuben,  with  a  queer-shaped  box  before 
was  in  what  Maria  called  "  a  brown  study." 


"  IN   A    1SUOWN    STUDY." 

The  stair  door  opened,  and  his  Aunt  Mary's 
voice  called,  "  Reuben  !  " 

"  Yes'm." 

"  Don't  you  forget  those  errands  that  you've 
got  to  do  in  town.  Have  you  got  'em  all  in 
your  mind?" 

"Yes'm." 


"There's  only  the  eggs  and  the  kerosene  and 
the  vinegar,  you  know,  so  you  won't  need  to 
have  'em  written  down  —  just  three  things." 
"All  right." 

Silence  for  a  few  minutes,  during  which 
Reuben  turned  the  box  endwise  and  squinted 
at  it.  "Let's  see,"  he  said,  leaning  his  elbow 
on  the  table  and  his  head  on  his  hand,  "I  won- 
der how  that  would  do?  "  Then  he  started  for 
his  row  of  shelves,  seized  upon  a  good-sized 
book  in  the  corner,  and  dived  into  its  pages. 
Something  was  not  clear.  The  stair  door 
opened  again,  and  his  aunt's  voice 
sounded :  ' '  Reuben !  " 
"Yes'm." 

' '  You  must  take  that  next  car,  you 
know,  because  there  isn't  another  for 
an  hour,  and  I'm  in  a  hurry  for  the 
eggs ;  if  I  don't  have  them  by  noon 
there'll  be  no  pumpkin  pie  for  Sunday. 
Are  you  all  ready  for  the  car?  " 

"I  will  be  in  a  minute,  Aunt  Mary." 
"Well,    you  better  get  ready  right 
straight  off,   then  there  won't   be  any 
mistake ;  it  will  be  along  now  in  a  little 
while." 

There  was  no  reply  to  this,  and  the 
door  closed  again,  Reuben,  meantime, 
deep  in  his  book.  Ten  minutes,  fifteen 
minutes,  then  a  sudden,  sharp  call  from 
below:  "Reuben,  there's  the  car  com- 
ing. Hurry,  now !  don't  you  miss  it 
for  anything." 

Reuben  hurried.  He  made  a  frantic 
dash  for  his  coat,  ran  his  fingers 
through  his  hair  by  way  of  combingv 
concluded  to  go  without  a  necktie,  and 
tore  down  the  stairs  and  out  of  the 
kitchen  door  and  across  the  lawn,  to 
the  tune  of  his  aunt's  words  :  "I  believe 
in  my  heart  you'll  lose  that  car,  after 
all !  " 

No,  he  didn't.  He  hailed  it,  panting  and 
breathless,  some  minutes  after  it  had  passed 
the  corner,  and  at  last  was  seated  in  it,  mop- 
ping his  wet  forehead,  for  the  morning  was 
warm.  But  he  had  not  forgotten  the  big  book. 
Four  miles  in  a  street  car,  with  not  many  pas- 
sengers at  that  hour,  gave  him  a  good  chance 


THE     ADOPTED     FAMILY. 


to  study  up  that  puzzling  portion  which  he 
could  not  get  through  his  mind.  So  he  studied 
and  puzzled,  and  the  car  rumbled  on,  and 
stopped,  and  went  on  again  many  times,  and 
people  came  in  and  went  out,  and  Reuben  knew 
nothing  about  them.  At  last  he  looked  up ;  he 
believed  he  could  make  that  box  now,  partitions 
and  all,  if  he  were  only  at  home.  Halloo  !  they 
were  in  town  already,  and  were  passing  Porter's. 
Why !  then  they  must  have  passed  the  corner 
grocery  where  Aunt  Mary  always  traded. 
What  a  nuisance  !  Now  perhaps  he  could  not 
get  this  car  on  its  return  trip.  He  must  try  for 
it.  So  he  pulled  the  check,  and  made  what 
speed  he  could  back,  three,  four,  five  blocks, 
to  the  corner  grocery.  As  he  left  the  car  he 
wondered  how  they  managed  the  flap  that  made 
the  fastening  of  the  inner  box,  and  still  puzzling 
over  it,  presented  himself  at  the  counter  of  the 
city  grocery. 

"Well,  sir,"  said  the  clerk,  after  waiting  a 
minute  for  orders,  "  what  can  I  do  for  you?  " 

What  indeed?  Reuben  stared  at  him,  grew 
red  in  the  face,  stammered,  mopped  his  face 
with  his  handkerchief,  gazed  up  and  down  the 
rows  and  rows  of  crowded  shelves,  gazed  about 
him  everywhere.  What  had  he  come  for?  That 
was  the  awful  question.  What  had  Aunt  Mary 
said?  She  had  said  several  things,  he  remem- 
bered. He  tried  to  recall  the  all- important  one. 
Butter  ?  No,  of  course  not ;  they  made  their 
own  butter.  Flour,  perhaps,  or  starch — women 
were  always  wanting  flour  and  starch  —  or  it 
might  have  been  tea.  He  was  sure  he  did  not 
know,  and  the  longer  he  thought  the  more  con- 
fused he  seemed  to  get.  And  there  was  the 
return  car!  Unless  he  took  that  he  would 
have  to  wait  a  solid  hour,  and  for  what?  Was 
there  any  likelihood  that  he  would  remember? 
Reuben  asked  himself  that  question  in  a  most 
searching  manner,  then  sorrowfully  shook  his 
head  as  he  owned  to  himself  that  he  did  not 
believe  he  ever  knew ;  he  had  not  paid  any 
attention  to  that  part  of  the  business. 

Aunt  Mary  was  watching  for  the  return  car. 
"Reuben  has  come,"  she  called  out  to  Maria 
in  the  kitchen,  as  she  caught  a  glimpse  of  him. 
"  I  must  say  I  am  relieved ;  I  don't  know  how 
we  could  have  managed  without  those  eggs.  If 


I  ever  get  hold  of  any  hens  that  lay  again,  I'll 
venture  to  say  I  won't  sell  all  my  eggs  to  my 
neighbors  and  have  to  depend  on  store  ones 
for  myself.  Why,  what  in  the  world  has  the 
boy  done  with  them  ?  He  seems  to  be  empty- 
handed  !  Hurry  up,  Reuben,  we  are  waiting 
for  the  eggs.  Where  are  your  things?  " 

Poor  red-faced,  shamefaced  Reuben !  It 
was  hard  work,  but  there  was  nothing  for  it 
but  to  own  that  the  first  he  had  heard  of  eggs 
was  at  that  moment;  and  as  for  the  "  things," 
he  had  no  more  idea  than  the  man  in  the  moon 
what  they  were.  • 

"I  believe  that  boy  is  half-witted,"  the  clerk 
at  the  corner  grocery  had  said,  after  watching 
him  for  a  few  minutes,  and  seeing  him  make 
a  dash  for  the  return  car,  not  having  bought  a 
thing.  But  bless  your  heart,  he  wasn't.  He 
had  wits  enough.  "Too  many  of  'em,"  his 
Aunt  Mary  said.  The  trouble  with  Reuben 
was  that  he  had  never  learned  to  withdraw  his 
thoughts  from  the  thing  which  wanted  to  absorb 
them,  and  fix  them  for  the  time  being,  instead, 
on  the  thing  which  ought  to  claim  his  attention. 

MYRA  .SPAFFORD. 


THE   ADOPTED    FAMILY. 

T  was  a  beautiful  summer  day 
when  the  Westwoods  arrived 
at  their  country  home,  most  of 
them  very  glad  indeed  to  see 
the  dear  old  place.  They  had 
staid  in  town  very  late  that 
season,  Mr.  Westwood's  business  being  such 
that  there  was  a  time  when  he  feared  he  could 
not  get  away  at  all.  Now  here  they  were  turn- 
ing the  corner  which  brought  the  house  into 
view ;  the  great  wagon  following  close  behind, 
piled  high  with  baggage,  and  every  one  was 
glad,  save  Herbert.  He  was  eleven  years  old, 
and  fond  of  his  city  home,  and  of  the  school 
which  he  attended,  and  of  the  boys  in  his  class, 
and  felt  very  lonely  and  desolate.  He  "  did 
not  know  a  single  boy  out  here,"  he  confided  to 
his  mother,  "that  he  ever  cared  to  see  again." 
"  And  when  a  fellow  hasn't  any  friends,"  he 
said  dolefully,  "it  is  very  lonesome." 


THE     ADOPTED     FAMILY. 


"  Poor  boy !  "  said  Mrs.  Westwood,  when  he 
was  out  of  hearing,  "I  am  sorry  for  him  ;  I 
wish  he  liked  the  country  as  I  used  to ;  the 
long  bright  summer  days  were  just  crowded 
with  happiness  for  me ;  but  then  I  had  sister 
Fanny  to  play  with,  and  brother  Will.  Per- 
haps it  would  have  been  different  if  I  had  been 
all  alone." 

"  Children  must  learn  to  make  friends  of  the 
birds,  and  the  squirrels,  and  all  sorts  of  living 
things,"  answered  his  father.  "When  I  was 
Herbert's  age,  I  used  to  know  the  note  of  every 
bird  in  the  woods,  and  I  don't  believe  he  can 
tell  even  a  robin  when  he  sees  it." 

"  No,"  said  his  mother  ;  "he  has  but  little 
chance  for  that  sort  of  education ;  and  more- 
over he  has  no  taste  for  anything  of  the  kind ; 
I  wish  he  had." 

The  carriage  which  had  been  winding  up  the 
drive,  stopped  in  front  of  the  old-fashioned, 
wide  piazzaed  country'home.  It  did  seem  a  pity 
that  anybody  should  feel  doleful  coming  to  such 
a  pleasant  place  as  that ;  but  Herbert  felt  dole- 
ful ;  as  he  stood  with  his  hand  in  his  pockets, 
and  stared  down  the  country  road,  he  winked 
hard  to  keep  back  the  tears,  when  he  thought 
of  the  boys  in  town  having  their  military  drill 
at  this  hour.  Meanwhile  his  father  and  mother, 
and  Peter  and  Hannah,  bustled  about,  opening 
dodrs  and  windows,  and  planning  where  the 
luggage  should  be  set  down.  Presently  Herbert 
heard  an  exclamation  from  his  mother.  "For 
pity's  sake ! "  she  said  —  and  in  the  next 
breath  — 

' '  Herbert,  come  here  and  see  what  I  have 
found !  " 

So  Herbert  swallowed  hard,  and  brushed 
away  a  tear  or  two,  and  went  round  to  the  side 
piazza  from  where  his  mother's  voice  had 
sounded,  and  saw  a  sight  which  made  him  go 
on  tiptoe  and  gaze  in  delight. 

Pushed  back,  well  under  shelter  from  the 
summer  storms,  in  the  southeast  corner  of  the 
piazza,  was  an  old,  somewhat  dilapidated  wil- 
low chair,  large  and  very  comfortable  in  its 
time,  but  which  had  long  since  been  assigned  to 
the  piazza,  and  not  considered  worth  bringing 
in  out  of  the  dews  or  the  rain.  In  the  fall 
when  the  family  closed  the  house,  the  old  chair 


had  been  forgotten.  It  had  stood  there  all 
winter,  deserted  and  lonely.  But  in  the  spring 
it  had  evidently  been  mistaken  by  a  certain 
family  as  a  house  which  was  for  rent,  and  they 
had  rented  it  and  moved  in  and  set  up  house- 
keeping on  a  splendid  scale ;  the  consequences 
were,  that  fastened  ingeniously  to  the  back  of 
the  chair  was  a  luxurious  nest,  most  carefully 
woven,  and  within  it  at  this  moment  were  three 
of  the  prettiest  speckled  eggs  that  Herbert  had 
ever  seen.  In  fact  his  knowledge  of  birds'  eggs 
was  limited ;  he  had  seen  but  very  few. 

"  O,  mother!"  he  said  softly,  "how  pretty 
it  is.  There  is  one  of  the  birds  on  the  branches 
near  by  —  a  splendid  fellow.  Where  is  his 
mate,  do  you  suppose  ?  " 

"Not  far  away,  you  may  depend,"  said  his 
mother.  "What  a  cunning  place  it  is  in  which 
to  build  a  house.  How  fortunate  that  the  chair 
is  so  near  that  door  instead  of  the  other  one. 
We  can  get  along  for  awhile  without  opening 
that  door  at  all,  and  they  can  raise  their  family 
without  having  trouble.  If  I  were  you,  Her- 
bert, I  would  adopt  them  and  look  after  their 
interests  and  help  to  bring  up  their  young  ones ; 
wouldn't  that  be  fun  ?  " 

"Well,"  said  Herbert,  with  more  glee  than 
he  had  shown  since  he  had  left  his  city  home, 
"  I  believe  I  will.  I  will  call  that  fellow  up 
there  on  the  bush  Denny,  and  he  and  I  will  be 
companions  this  summer." 

"That  will  be  splendid,"  said  Mrs.  West- 
wood,  very  much  pleased,  for  Denny  was  the 
short  for  "Deuisou,"  her  boy's  best  friend  in 
town.  It  was  certainly  a  delicate  compliment 
to  name  the  bird  after  him,  and  showed  to  the 
mother  the  degree  of  friendship  which  Herbert 
meant  to  cultivate. 

"  We  shall  get  along  comfortably  now,"  she 
said  to  her  husband  laughingly;  "he  has 
adopted  the  birds  in  the  old  chair,  and  named 
the  singer  '  Denny,'  so  he  will  not  lack  for 
companionship." 

Ah !  I  wish  I  could  tell  you  about  the  lovely 
summer.  Never  was  a  brighter,  more  congenial 
companion  than  Denny.  He  sang  his  sweetest 
songs  for  the  lonesome  boy,  and  accepted  his 
overtures  of  friendship  in  the  most  genial  man- 
ner possible.  Before  the  season  was  over  not 


PRETTY     GIFT. 


only  he  but  his  wife  would  allow  Herbert  to 
come  close  enough  to  the  old  chair  to  drop 
special  dainties  into  the  nest  for  the  children, 
and  were  voluble  in  their  thanks.  More  than 
that,  Denny  actually  learned  to  come  and  perch 
himself  on  Herbert's  finger  and  eat  sugar  out 
of  his  hand.  And  one  of  the  children  grew  so 
fond  of  Herbert  that  she  took  many  a  walk 
perched  on  his  shoulder,  chirping  occasionally 
to  let  him  know  that  she  was  there,  and  was 
happy. 

' '  I  never  knew  that  birds  could  be  so  pleas- 
ant," Herbert  said  to  his  mother;  "they  are 
better  than  boys  and  girls  in  some  respects ; 
they  never  get  vexed  at  a  fellow,  you  know, 
and  refuse  to  speak  to  him  for  days  together. 
Even  Denny  got  mad  at  me  once,  and  wouldn't 
speak  for  a  whole  day.  Now  this  Denny  never 
forgets  to  say  '  How  do  you  do  ? '  even  if  I 
haven't  been  out  of  his  sight  longer  than  five 
minutes." 

On  the  whole  the  birds  did  a  good  thing  for 
Herbert  Westwood  that  summer ;  they  turned 
what  they  thought  would  be  a  weariness  into  a 
season  of  great  delight,  and  of  daily  increasing 
interest.  More  than  that,  he  did  a  good  thing 
for  the  birds.  Before  the  season  was  over  he 
had  made  the  acquaintance  of  dozens  of  boys 
in  the  neighborhood  and  formed  a  society,  the 
pledge  of  which  was  protection  to  the  birds. 
No  stones  were  to  be  thrown,  no  snares  to  be 
set  by  these  boys  or  any  whom  they  recognized 
as  friends ;  neither  were  any  nests  to  be  mo- 
lested, and  not  a  few  of  the  boys  became  so 
interested  in  Denny  and  his  family  that  they 
determined  for  another  season  to  adopt  a  family 
of  their  own,  and  study  birds. 

"They  are  wonderful  creatures,"  said  Her- 
bert thoughtfully,  as  he  was  reporting  to  his 
mother  some  of  the  bird  stories  which  had  been 
told  in  the  society  that  afternoon,  ' '  just  won- 
derful creatures !  I  don't  know  how  I  ever 
came  to  pass  them  by  without  thinking  anything 
about  them.  I  tell  you  what,  mother,  God 
must  have  thought  about  them  a  great  deal." 

EFIL  SREDNOW. 


A    PRETTY    GIFT. 


(Something  for  Mamma.) 


GOD'S  promises  are  fulfilled  a  hundred  cents 
on  a  dollar. 


HE  materials  needed  for  this 
gift  are  a  smooth  thin  board 
about  two  feet  long  and  six 
inches  wide,  some  bright-col- 
ored plush,  some  pretty  cre- 
tonne, a  dozen  or  more  brass 
hooks  of  varying  sizes,  none  of  them  very  large, 
a  couple  of  ' l  cock  eyes  "  such  as  are  used  for 
hanging  small  picture  frames,  and  a  yard  or 
two  of  ribbon,  color  to  match  the  plush,  or 
contrast  nicely  with  it. 

The  smooth  board  is  to  be  covered  on  one 
side  with  the  plush,  on  the  other  with  the  cre- 
tonne, the  edges  neatly  sewed ;  then  the  hooks 
are  to  be  screwed  in  at  regular  intervals  on  the 
plush  side,  the  ribbon  drawn  through  the  rings 
or  "cock  eyes,"  and  tied  in  a  bow  ready  for 
hanging,  and  your  work  is  done. 

When  it  comes  into  mamma's  possession  she 
will  select  a  convenient  spot  on  her  wall,  and 
hang  it  as  though  it  were  a  picture.  Then  on 
the  little  hooks  she  will  hang  her  glove  buttoner, 
her  small  scissors  which  are  forever  slipping  out 
of  sight,  her  shoe  buttoner,  her  watch,  perhaps, 
when  it  is  not  in  use,  and  it  may  be  her  favorite 
ring  which  she  removes  when  she  washes  her 
hands.  I  am  sure  I  could  not  enumerate  the 
little  bits  of  useful  articles  which  she  will  be 
only  too  glad  to  hang  on  such  convenient  hooks, 
that  she  will  find  not  a  disfigurement  but  an 
ornament  to  her  room. 

Now  having  told  you  just  what  and  how,  let 
me  go  carefully  over  the  story  again  and  re- 
mind you  of  its  possibilities.  For  I  can  well 
imagine  a  little  girl  who  wants  to  make  her 
mother  a  neat  and  convenient  present,  but  who 
has  no  plush  nor  ribbon,  and  does  not  even 
know  how  to  get  the  right  kind  of  a  board. 

My  dear,  you  are  just  the  one  I  want  to  help. 
About  the  board ;  it  need  not  be  exactly  two 
feet  long  and  six  inches  wide ;  it  may  be  of 
the  length  and  width  which  you  find  convenient, 
and  which  you  decide  will  look  well  in  the  space 
where  it  is  to  hang.  There  are  light  boards 
used  by  wholesale  merchants  in  packing  certain 


AS    WE    USED    TO    DRESS. 


goods  which  are  just  the  thing,  and  they  can 
often  be  had  for  the  asking  at  the  store  where 
your  mother  does  most  of  her  shopping. 
Neither  is  plush  a  necessity.  I  have  a  friend 
who  made  a  pretty  "Wall  Toilet"  such  as  I 
have  described,  out  of  a  bit  of  soft  silk  a 
friend  had  given  her  to  dress  her  dollie.  The 
silk  was  old,  but  she  smoothed  it  neatly,  padded 
it  with  a  sheet  of  white  cotton  padding,  and  it 
looked  very  nice ;  but  you  may  not  happen  to 
have  the  silk?  Never  mind,  don't  you  remem- 
ber those  pieces  of  turkey  red  calico  in  your 
auntie's  piece  bag?  They  are  just  the  thing, 
and  your  little  friend  who  wants  to  make  one, 
and  has  no  turkey  red  calico,  has  some  bright 
blue  cambric  which  will  be  very  pretty.  All 


thin  material  will  look  better  if  the  board  is 
first  padded  with  the  cotton  I  spoke  of.  The 
brass  hooks  are  quite  cheap,  and  so  useful  that 
I  think  we  must  have  them ;  but  a  red  cord,  or 
a  neat  band  of  cretonne,  or  some  tidy  cotton 
twisted  into  a  cord,  finished  with  tassels  made 
out  of  it,  will  take  the  place  of  the  ribbon  very 
nicely  indeed.  In  short,  the  old  motto,  "Where 
there  is  a  will  there  is  a  way,"  will  serve  you 
well  in  making  this  gift,  as  indeed  it  will  in 
almost  any  emergency  in  life. 

I  know  by  experience  how  useful  the  little 
contrivances  are,  and  I  earnestly  hope  that 
many  a  mother  will  have  her  birthday  enriched 
this  season  by  one  of  them,  made  by  her  own 
little  daughter's  thoughtful  hand.  PANSY. 


AS   WE    USED    TO   DRESS. 


A    DEER   CHILD. 


OR    MISS    MOON'S    FACES. 


OR  MISS   MOON'S   FACES. 

RUTH  to  tell  she  does  make  up 
faces,  very  different  and  queer 
ones,  and  no  one  Pansy  sees 
exactly  the  same  one  at  the 
same  time,  and  since  there  are 
ten  thousand  Pansies,  more  or 
less,  you  see  Miss  Nancy  Moon 
is  smarter  in  ' '  making  faces  "  than 
some  of  you. 

Another  "truth  to  tell"  is  that 
the  ' '  moon's  phases  "  means  ap- 
pearances, or  looks,  and  so  why 
is  it  not  quite  the  same  as  Nancy 
Moon's  faces?  We'll  think  it  is. 

Every  Pansy  knows  some  astro- 
nomy or  —  ought  to.  Come,  then, 
and  from  this  time  on  till  you  are 
a  hundred  years  old  know  that 
astronomy  means  star-law,  or  all 
about  the  bright  worlds  in  the 
sky.  Now  you  know  some  astro- 
nomy. The  moon  is  one  of  these 
worlds,  and  is  very  near  our  world 
—  only  two  hundred  and  forty 
thousand  miles  away  —  and  is  one 
of  the  lamps  to  light  it  up.  You 
must  begin  to  learn  about  it.  That 
you  may  call  moouology.  One  of 
the  first  things  to  learn  in  moou- 
ology is  how  she  makes  so  many 
faces ;  once  a  month  a  long,  nar- 
row bent  face,  then  a  little  fatter, 
and  so  on  till  it  is  full  as  a  —  beer 
keg.  Of  course  you  mustn't  think 
she  really  drinks  that  stuff.  I 
guess  there  is  no  license  in  Moon- 
town. 

If  you  will  study  the  picture 
with  all  your  might  and  main  a 
half-hour  to-day,  another  to-mor- 
row, and  so  on,  and  then  get 
grandpapa  to  put  on  his  specs  and 
help — you'll  surely  answer  the  riddle,  how  the 
faces  (or  phases)  are  made. 

Then  some   day   you  may  become    a  great 
astronomer  —  like  Tycho  Brahe  or  John  Kepler. 

L. 


"TITT^HEN  you've  got  a  thing  to  say, 
W       Say  it !     Don't  take  half  a  day. 
When  your  tale's  got  little  in  it, 
Crowd  the  whole  thing  in  a  minute ! 
Life  is  short  —  a  fleeting  vapor  — 
Don't  fill  up  a  ream  of  paper 
With  a  tale,  which,  at  a  pinch, 
Could  be  cornered  in  an  inch ! 


THE   MOON'S    PHASES. 


Boil  it  down  until  it  simmers ; 
Polish  it  until  it  glimmers. 
When  you've  got  a  thing  to  say, 
Say  it !     Don't  take  half  a  day. 


•  Selected. 


AT    THE    PARIS     OBSERVATORY. 


AT    THE    PARIS  OBSERVATORY. 


BABY'S     CORNER, 


BABY'S   CORNER. 


JOHNNY  S    PILLOW. 


ONE  day  Johnny  was  taking  a  walk  in  the 
orchard  with  Nurse. 

He  was  hunting  for  berries,  and  what  do 
you  think  he  found? 

He  found  some  big  white  eggs  hidden  in  the 
tall  grass ! 

Johnny  wanted  to  put  the  pretty  eggs  in  his 
basket  and  take  them  home  to  mamma. 

But  Nurse  said : 

"No,  no,  come  away,  dear.  That  is  a  nest. 
Hush  !  there  comes  the  old  goose.  She  will  sit 
on  the  eggs  and  keep  them  warm,  and  by  and 
by  she  will  have  some  pretty  goslings." 

After  that  Johnny  went  with  Nurse  every 
day  to  take  a  peep  at  the  gray  goose  sitting  on 
her  eggs. 

She  sat  and  sat  a  good  many  days,  and  then 
one  morning  when  Johnny  went  to  look,  sure 
enough,  the  goslings  had  come  ! 

They  had  no  feathers  on,  and  they  had  long, 
ugly  necks  and  big  feet. 

"  I  don't  like  'em,"  said  Johnny. 

The  little  goslings  grew  fast.  They  had  a 
nice  farmyard  to  live  in,  and  a  little  brook  to 
paddle  in. 

At  night  the  farmer  shut  them  up  in  the 
barn,  so  that  the  cats  and  dogs  could  not  eat 
them  up. 

In  a  few  days  they  were  all  covered  with 
pretty  feathers. 

Then  Johnny  liked  them. 

By  and  by  the  little  goslings  were  old  enough 
to  go  with  their  father  and  mother  and  aunts 
and  uncles  to  swim  in  a  big  lake.  That  made 
them  very,  very  happy. 

Then  they  grew  to  be  big  geese,  and  wore  a 

lot  of  feathers,  and  Johnny  had  a  pillow,  which  he  enjoyed  very  much,  made  from  the  soft 
down  that  grew  on  their  white  breasts.  MRS.  C.  M.  LIVINGSTON. 


WHO     WAS     TO     BLAME? 


WHO   WAS   TO  BLAME? 

• 

OW  you  see,  Emeline  Frances," 
said  Celia,  pushing  herself  up 
among  the  pillows  and  speak- 
ing in  slow,  stern  tones  to  the 
dollie  lying  on  her  arm,  "it  is 
really  your  fault,  and  no  other 
person's ;  if  you  hadn't  been  bound  and  deter- 
mined to  go  out  this  afternoon,  why,  we  shouldn't 
have  gone,  that's  all.  It  had  been  raining,  of 
course  it  had,  and  the  walks  were  all  damp,  and 
you  had  no  rubbers  to  wear  over  these  shoes. 
Besides  all  that,  you  had  been  told  that  you 
must  not  go  out  this  afternoon ;  but  you  were 
so  vain  of  your  new  dress  and  hat,  and  so 
anxious  to  show  them  to  Lulu  Parks, 
that  you  would  insist  on  going,  and  mak- 
ing me  get  my  feet  wet.  Now  here  we 
are  !  A  whole  hour  yet  before  it  will  be 
dark,  and  just  a  lovely  time  to  play,  and 
company  downstairs  in  the  parlor,  and 
just  the  kind  of  cake  for  tea  that  I  like 
the  best,  and  we  have  to  come  upstairs 
and  go  to  bed !  I  hope  you  are  satisfied, 
Emeline  Frances,  with  your  afternoon's 
work.  I  shouldn't  have  thought  of  going 
out  if  you  hadn't  have  been  so  crazy  to 
show  your  new  hat.  It  is  just  a  pity  that 
you  think  so  much  of  fine  clothes.  The 
dampness  took  the  curl  all  out  of  your  new 
feather,  and  it  will  never  be  so  pretty  again ; 
but  you  had  your  own  way,  and  will  have  to 
take  the  consequences.  The  worst  of  it  is  that 
you  make  me  suffer  with  you.  If  this  were  the 
first  time  you  had  disobeyed  perhaps  I  shouldn't 
feel  so  badly,  but  as  it  is,  I  am  almost  dis- 
couraged. I  do  not  see  how  you  can  be  so 
naughty  and  forgetful." 

The  lecture  closed  with  one  of  Celia's  longest 
sighs.  The  door  which  led  from  her  room  to 
her  brother  Stuart's  was  ajar,  and  he,  sitting  at 
his  desk  supposed  to  be  studying  his  Latin  for 
the  next  day,  listened  with  the  most  unqualified 
amusement  to  the  whole  of  it.  He  repeated  the 
story  downstairs  at  the  tea-table,  amid  bursts 
of  laughter  from  the  entire  family,  his  mother 
excepted. 

"  Mamma  looks  as  grave  as  a  judge  over  it," 


Stuart  said  at  last,  when  the  laugh  had  sub- 
sided. "What's  the  matter,  mamma?  Don't 
you  think  the  poor  baby's  version  of  her  troubles 
is  funny  ?  " 

"It  has  its  funny  side,"  said  Mrs.  Campbell, 
with  a  grave  smile  upon  her  face,  "  but  really, 
it  has  its  sad  side  too.  You  are  a  very  good 
mimic,  my  son,  and  gave  Celia's  voice  and 
manner  to  perfection,  in  doing  which  you  have 
reminded  me  of  her  besetting  sin.  Have  you 
never  noticed  that  the  child,  in  her  own  esti- 
mation, is  always  led  into  trouble  through  the 
fault  of  others?  If  she  cannot  blame  Nora, 
or  Josie,  or  some  of  her  playmates,  why  then 
poor  Emeline  Frances  has  to  bear  it.  I  am 
really  very  much  troubled  by  this  habit  of  hers. 


CELIA   TALKS   TO   KMELINE   KKAM'ES. 

To  judge  from  Celia's  statement  of  the  case, 
she  is  forever  led  astray  by  the  evil  propensities 
of  other  people.  If  it  were  true,  it  would  be 
sad  enough,  to  have  a  child  so  easily  led  in  the 
wrong  way ;  but  sometimes  there  is  as  much 
foundation  for  her  theory  as  there  is  in  this 
case,  when  the  vanity  of  poor  Emeline  Frances 
is  supposed  to  have  caused  all  the  trouble.  I 
have  tried  to  reason  the  child  out  of  such  ex- 
cuses, but  when  she  reaches  the  folly  of  actually 
blaming  the  doll  for  leading  her  astray,  I  hardly 
know  what  to  think  of  her." 

"It  is  a  curious  development,"  said  Celia's 
father,  "but  I  have  known  older  and  wiser 
people  than  she  to  indulge  in  it;  I  knew  a 
young  man  once,  who  charged  a  moonlight 
night  of  unusual  beauty  with  all  the  folly  of 
which  he  was  guilty  that  evening." 


A  VERITABLE  POEM  OF  POEM  S  .—LITTLE  LENA. 


After  this  sentence  Stuart  Campbell  finished 
his  supper  in  silence,  with  his  eyes  on  his  plate ; 
but  perhaps  no  one  but  his  father  knew  that  his 
cheeks  were  redder  than  usual. 

PANSY. 


A   VERITABLE   POEM   OF   POEMS. 

A  LADY  of  San  Francisco  is  said  to  have 
occupied  a  year  in  hunting  up  and  fit- 
ting together   the   following   thirty-eight  lines 
from  thirty-eight  English-speaking  poets.     The 
names  of  the  authors  are  given  below : 

1 .  Why  all  this  toil  for  triumphs  of  an  hour? 

2.  Life's  a  short  summer,  man  a  flower; 

3.  By  turns  we  catch  the  vital  breath,  and  die ; 

4.  The  cradle  and  the  tomb,  alas!  so  nigh. 

5.  To  be  is  better  far  than  not  to  be, 

6.  'Though  all  man's  life  may  seem  a  tragedy; 

7.  But  light  cares  speak  when  mighty  cares  are  dumb, 

8.  Tke  bottom  is  but  shallow  whence  they  come. 

9.  Your  fate  is  but  the  common  fate  of  all; 

10.  Unmingled  joys  here  to  no  man  befall. 

11.  Nature  to  each  allots  her  proper  sphere, 

12.  Fortune  makes  folly  her  peculiar  care ; 

13.  Custom  does  often  reason  overrule, 

14.  And  throw  a  cruel  sunshine  on  a  fool. 

15.  Live  well,  how  long,  how  short,  permit  to  heaven, 

16.  They  who  forgive  most  shall  be  most  forgiven. 

17.  Sin  may  be  clasped  so  close  we  cannot  see  its  face  — 

18.  Vile  intercourse  where  virtue  has  not  place; 

19.  Then  keep  each  passion  down,  however  dear; 

20.  Thou  pendulum  betwixt  a  smile  and  tear; 

21.  Her  sensual  snares,  let  faithless  Pleasure  lay 

22.  With  craft  and  skill  to  ruin  and  betray; 

23.  Soar  not  too  high  to  fall,  but  stoop  to  rise. 

24.  We  masters  grow  of  all  that  we  despise. 

25.  Oh!  then,  renounce  that  impious  self-esteem; 

26.  Riches  have  wings,  and  grandeur  is  a  dream. 

27.  Think  not  ambition  wise  because  'tis  brave, 

28.  The  path  of  glory  leads  but  to  the  grave. 
2 ).  What  is  ambition?     'Tis  a  glorious  cheat, 

30.  Only  destructive  to  the  brave  and  great. 

31.  What's  all  the  gaudy  glitter  of  a  crown? 

32.  The  way  to  bliss  lies  not  on  beds  of  down. 

33.  How  long  we  live,  not  years,  but  actions  tell ; 

34.  That  man  lives  twice  who  lives  the  first  life  well. 

35.  Make,  then,  while  yet  ye  may,  your  God  your  friend, 

36.  Whom  Christians  worship,  yet  not  comprehend. 

37.  The  trust  that's  given  guard,  and  to  yourself  be  just; 

38.  For,  live  we  how  we  can,  yet  die  we  must. 

1,  Young;  2,  Dr.  Johnson;  3,  Pope;  4, 
Prior;  5,  Sewell;  6,  Spenser;  7,  Daniel;  8, 
Sir  Walter  Raleigh;  9,  Longfellow;  10,  South- 
well; 11,  Congreve;  12,  Churchill;  13,  Roch- 


ester; 14,  Armstrong ;  15,  Milton;  16,  Baily, 
17,  Trench;  18,  Somerville ;  19,  Thompson; 
20,  Byron;  21,  Smollett;  22,  Crabbe;  23, 
Massinger;  24,  Crowley;  25,  Beattie ;  26, 
Cowper;  27,  Sir  Walter  Davenant ;  28,  Gray; 
29,  Willis;  30,  Addison ;  31,  Dryden ;  32, 
Francis  Quarles;  33,  Watkins;  34,  Herrick; 
35,  William  Mason;  36,  Hill;  37,  Dana;  38, 
Shakespeare. 


LITTLE   LENA. 

DID  the  Pansies  read  in  the  papers  about 
Lena  Haupt? 

She  was  only  five  years  old  when  her  mother 
died,  and  three  months  afterwards  her  father, 
who  had  kept  her  with  him  by  the  kind  help  of 
a  neighbor,  fell  from  a  building  where  he  had 
been  working,  and  was  so  badly  injured  that  in 
a  short  time  he  died.  He  had  his  little  girl 
with  him  a  few  hours  before  his  death,  and  ex- 
plained to  her  as  well  as  he  could  that  he  was 
going  where  her  mamma  had  gone,  but  could 
not  take  her  with  him  yet.  She  must  be  a  good 
little  girl ;  she  had  an  nncle  and  aunt  and  little 
cousins  in  Chicago,  and  they  would  take  care 
of  her  and  love  her  if  she  was  good. 

Only  a  few  days  after  that  Lena  started  alone 
on  her  long  journey.  Her  uncle  had  telegraphed 
to  "send  her  on,"  and  he  would  meet  her  at  the 
Chicago  depot.  There  was  a  card  tied  around 
her  neck  by  a  ribbon,  and  on  the  card  was 
written:  "Please  take  care  of  me."  There 
was  a  letter,  also,  fastened  to  the  same  ribbon, 
which  told  Lena's  sad  little  story,  and  asked 
the  passengers  to  be  kind  to  her,  but  to  please 
not  give  her  any  candy.  She  had  a  wee  purse 
fastened  to  the  buckle  of  her  belt  which  had 
nearly  two  dollars  in  it. 

As  for  her  ticket,  it  had  been  bought  and 
paid  for,  and  the  conductor  had  it  in  charge. 
Before  night  of  that  long  day  almost  everj 
passenger  on  the  crowded  train  had  called  on 
Lena,  and  her  wee  purse  was  filled  to  its  utmost 
capacity  with  shining  quarters  and  half-dollars. 
She  herself  made  a  great  many  journeys  in  the 
porter's  arms  to  the  parlor  car,  to  visit  with 
some  ladies.  And  at  last,  as  night  was  coming 


IN    THE     MIDST     OF     HARVEST. 


IN    THE    MIDST   OF    HAKVKBT. 


POSITIVE     PEOPLE.— OFF     FOR    BOYLAND. 


on,  and  Lena's  eyes  were  beginning  to  droop, 
and  the  conductor  was  considering  how  he  could 
make  her  comfortable  for  the  night,  came  a 
lady  and  gentleman  and  begged  to  have  her 
transferred  to  their  sleeper,  where  they  bought 
a  berth  for  her  and  put  her  to  bed. 

And  all  along  the  line  little  Lena  found  lov- 
ing friends.  I  think  her  father  and  mother  in 
Heaven  must  have  been  glad  to  see  how  warm 
were  the  hearts  of  even  strangers  toward  their 
darling. 


POSITIVE    PEOPLE. 

I  WANT  to  call  the  attention  of  all  Pansies 
to  a  statement  made  by  Benjamin  Frank- 
lin in  his. story  of  his  life.  He  says  he  tried  to 
form  the  habit  of  expressing  himself  always 
with  great  modesty.  He  was  careful  not  to 
use  the  word  "certainly"  or  "undoubtedly," 
or  any  of  those  words  which  give  an  air  of 
positiveness,  when  the  subject  was  one  which 
might  be  disputed.  He  tried  always  to  say, 
"It  appears  to  me,"  or  "If  I  am  not  mis- 
taken," or  "I  should  think  that,"  etc.  He 
declared  this  habit  to  be  of  great  use  to  him  in 
persuading  others  to  think  as  he  did,  and  that 
moreover  it  gave  him  a  chance  to  learn  a  great 
deal  more  than  he  would  otherwise  have  had ; 
for  he  said  he  had  noticed  that  people  did  not 
care  to  give  information  to  those  who  acted  as 
though  they  already  knew  all  that  it  was  possi- 
ble to  learn. 

In  many  respects  Benjamin  Franklin  was  a 
wise  man,  and  perhaps  in  no  small  way  could 
he  have  shown  his  knowledge  of  human  nature 
better  than  by  adopting  such  rules.  But  I 
really  do  not  think  he  has  many  followers. 
Just  watch  the  conversation  of  even  quite 
young  people  for  awhile,  with  this  thought  in 
mind,  and  see  how  many  of  them  seem  to  be 
absolutely  sure  of  their  position,  even  in  regard 
to  subjects  where  wise  men  differ.  If  we  could 
have  more  doubt  about  things  which  have  not  yet 
been  decided,  and  more  certairity  about  things 
which  God  and  the  Bible  have  decided  .for  us,  we 
should  have  a  much  better,  as  well  as  a  much 
pleasanter  world.  HANNAH  HEAHAI.K. 


OFF   FOR   BOYLAND. 

HO  !     All  aboard  ?     A  traveler 
Sets  sail  from  Babyland ! 
Before  my  eyes  there  comes  a  blur ; 

But  still  I  kiss  my  hand, 
And  try  to  smile  as  off  he  goes, 

My  bonny,  winsome  boy ! 
Yes,  bon  voyage  !  God  only  knows 
How  much  I  wish  thee  joy ! 

Oh  !  tell  me  ;  have  you  heard  of  him  ? 

He  wore  a  sailor's  hat 
All  silver-corded  round  the  brim, 

And  —  stranger  e'en  than  that  — 
A  wondrous  suit  of  navy  blue, 

With  pockets  deep  and  wide ; 
Oh !  tell  me,  sailors,  tell  me  true, 

How  fares  he  on  the  tide? 

We've  now  no  baby  in  the  house ; 

'Twas  but  this  very  morn, 
He  doffed  his  dainty  'broidered  blouse, 

With  skirts  of  snowy  lawn ; 
And  shook  a  mass  of  silken  curls 

From  off  his  sunny  brow ; 
They  fretted  him —  "  so  like  a  girl's," 

Mamma  can  have  them  now. 

He  owned  a  brand-new  pocket-book, 

But  that  he  could  not  find  ; 
A  knife  and  string  were  all  he  took. 

What  did  he  leave  behind  ? 
A  heap  of  blocks,  with  letters  gay, 

And  here  and  there  a  toy ; 
I  cannot  pick  them  up  to-day, 

My  heart  is  with  my  boy. 

Ho  !      Ship  ahoy  !     At  boyhood's  town 

Cast  anchor  strong  and  deep. 
What !  tears  upon  this  little  gown, 

Left  for  mamma  to  keep? 
Weep  not,  but  smile ;  for  through  the  air 

A  merry  message  rings  — 
"Just  sell  it  to  the  rag  man  there; 

I've  done  with  baby  things !  " 

EMMA  HUNTING  TON  NASON. 


©N   THE   LOOKOUT. 


MAJOR'S     AUTOBIOGRAPHY. 


THE   OLD   WORLD   TOO. 


MAJOR'S   AUTOBIOGRAPHY. 


MERICA  is  still  the  "New 
World."  Each  day  pick  up 
something  new  about  it.  It  is 
your  world  now.  But  there  is 
an  "  Old  World."  You  must 
know  about  that  too.  If  you 
could  go  and  see  it,  so  much  the  better.  The 
eye  is  a  little  contrivance,  but  large  enough  to 
take  in  all  England,  Ireland,  Scotland  and  any 
other  land  it  gets  a  chance  to  see. 

If  you  go  abroad  you  must  sail.  There  is  no 
railroad  or  cable  to  carry  you  yet.  A  hundred 
years  hence  people  may  cross  the  Atlantic  in 
balloons.  But  you  can't  wait  so  long.  Why 
should  you?  Here  is  the  good  ship  Majestic  — 
not  exactly  the  one  shown  in  the  picture  on 
the  first  page  —  which  will  take  you  over  from 
New  York  to  Liverpool  in  less  than  six  days. 

Once  it  took  weeks.  Sometimes  a  big  ice- 
berg came  sailing  along  right  across  the  ship's 
path.  Then  there  was  a  crash.  Perhaps  the 
poor  little  ship  went  to  splinters  and  the  pas- 
sengers —  well,  you  know  what  happened  then. 
Sometimes  a  dreadful  storm  came  down  upon 
the  ocean  and  the  waves  went  up  and  down, 
looking  like  mountains  and  valleys.  Not  every 
frail  ship  could  stand  it.  There  was  a  wreck. 
But  in  spite  of  all  these  dreadful  things  most 
passengers  get  there  and  see  the  sights,  and 
have  a  good  time  and  get  safely  home.  A 
friend  has  crossed  the  Atlantic  nearly  seventy 
times  safely.  L. 


CASHMERE   SHAWLS. 

IT  is  said  that  sixteen  thousand  looms  are 
kept  in  constant  employment  in  Cash- 
mere, producing  annually  about  thirty  thousand 
shawls.  The  shawls  are  woven  on  rudely-con- 
structed looms,  a  pair  of  shawls  sometimes  oc- 
cupying three  or  four  men  a  whole  year  in 
weaving.  The  Cashmere  goat,  which  furnishes 
the  material,  is  found  in  Thibet,  the  hair  of  it 
being  fine,  silky  and  about  eighteen  inches  long. 
It  takes  the  fleece  of  ten  goats  to  manufacture 
a  shawl  a  yard  and  a  half  square.  —  Selected. 


VI. 

HILE  the  folks  are  gone  to  the 
fair,  and  we  have  nothing  to 
do  but  watch  around  the  place 
and  see  that  no  tramp  gets  in, 
we  might  as  well  have  a  good 
time,  and  I  will  tell  you  about 
my  brother  Nero.  You  must  not  forget, 
though,  but  keep  eyes,  ears  and  nose  open 
while  I  am  talking. 

To  begin  with,  there  was  a  very  large  family 
of  us,  or  would  have  been  if  we  had  all  been 
kept  together.  There  were  brothers  and  sis- 
ters older,  and  a  good  many  younger  than  we. 
We  were  of  the  same  age,  and  there  were  three 
others  just  our  age,  too ;  but  they  had  gone  to 
live  with  other  families,  and  Nero  and  I  were 
all  there  were  left  with  mother.  Poor,  dear 
mother !  I  remember  well  how  she  used  to 
feel  when  her  children  were  taken  away  from 
her,  though  I  was  too  young  at  that  time  to 
realize  it. 

When  we  were  alone  she  would  sigh,  and 
many  a  tear  have  I  seen  fall  from  her  eyes,  as 
she  would  lap  us  and  think  of  her  darlings 
whose  faces  she  knew  not  that  she  would  ever 
see  again. 

She,  poor  mother,  seemed  to  lavish  all  her 
love  upon  us  after  the  other  three  were  gone. 

Mr.  Bryant,  our  master,  had  a  daughter  — 
only  one  —  whose  name  was  Fanny.  Her 
father  and  mother  seemed  to  think  the  world 
of  her ;  and  the  thing  that  puzzled  mother  was, 
that  Mrs.  Bryant,  being  a  mother  herself,  should 
not  feel  more  for  her  four-footed  friend,  who 
was  a  mother  also.  She  fed  us  enough,  and 
never  abused  us  in  the  ways  in  which  so  many 
abuse  their  dogs ;  but  when  it  came  to  parting 
mother  and  children  it  never  seemed  to  occur 
to  her  that  a  mother  with  four  feet,  and  that 
couldn't  talk,  could  have  any  motherly  feelings, 
or  care  what  became  of  her  little  ones. 

I  remember  little  Fanny  was  not  so.  She 
would  cry  every  time  one  of  my  brothers  or 
sisters  was  taken  away,  and  after  one  was  gone 
would  come  out  with  us  and  put  her  arms 


MAJOR'S     AUTOBIOGRAPHY. 


arouud  mother's  silky  ueck  and  cry  as  though 
her  heart  would  break. 

Well,  one  day  while  we  were  quite  small  a 
man  came  to  the  house.  I  think  he  was  some 
kind  of  agent.  He  saw  mother,  and  could  not 
help  admiring  her  glossy  coat  and  beautiful 
eyes,  and  so  was  anxious  to  get  one  of  our 
family.  He  wanted  mother  herself,  but  soon 
found  that  money  could  not  buy  her.  Fanny 
overheard  them  talking  about  us,  and  then 
slipped  quietly  out  of  the  room,  and  came  in 
great  haste  to  where  we  were,  and  with  one  of 
us  under  each  arm  fled  to  a  place  of  safety. 
Down  through  the  orchard  she  went  till  she 
came  to  an  old  building  which  was  used  to 
store  hay  in ;  there,  in  a  hole  which  she  and 
some  of  her  playmates  had  made  to  hide  in, 
she  put  us,  and  covered  us  up  with  soft  straw, 
and  fixed  it  so  that  we  could  not  possibly  crawl 
out,  then  closed  the  door  and  went  off  under  a 
sweet  apple-tree  to  hunt  for  apples  as  though 
nothing  had  happened. 

Now  I  suppose  men  will  think  she  did  not 
act  just  as  she  should,  and  perhaps  she  was 
guilty  of  disobedience  for  not  telling  where  we 
were  when  they  were  hunting  for  us ;  but  we 
were  very  grateful  to  her,  and  whined  with 
delight  when  we  heard  the  man  drive  away, 
and  learned  that  he  was  not  likely  to  come  over 
that  road  again. 

Fanny  felt  badly  about  it,  and  that  night 
when  she  was  going  to  bed  told  her  mother 
what  she  had  done,  crying  almost  as  hard  as 
though  we  had  been  sold. 

Fanny's  mother  explained  to  her  how  it  was 
wicked  to  be  disobedient,  and  that  it  was  dis- 
obedience to  not  do  what  she  would  be  required 
to  do,  if  all  the  circumstances  were  known,  and 
that  doing  wrong  that  good  might  come  of  it 
was  never  right. 

Then  after  Fanny  was  asleep  her  mother  told 
Mr.  Bryant  why  they  had  failed  to  find  us,  and 
after  he  heard  the  whole  story  he  said :  "Bless 
ier  dear  heart ;  for  her  sake  we  will  keep  the 
little  fellows,  and  Bess"  (that  was  mother's 
name)  ' '  will  look  at  us  with  less  sadness  in 
her  great  eyes." 

So  Mrs.  Bryant  told  Fanny  that  they  had 
decided  to  keep  us  both  until  we  were  much 


bigger,  at  least,  and  she  need  not  worry  any 
more  about  our  being  sold. 

When  they  told  mother  you  should  have  seen 
her  leap  for  joy ;  she  sprang  up  upon  her  hind 
feet,  and  put  her  fore  paws  upon  Mr.  Bryant's 
breast,  forgetting  in  her  great  joy  that  her  feet 
were  not  clean  ;  but  he,  good  man,  only  patted 
her  and  let  her  lick  his  cheek,  and  called  her 
"  Good  old  Bess,"  and  then  told  her  to  go  and 
look  after  her  children  and  give  them  their  supper. 

I  heard  her  say  to  one  of  the  neighbors  some 
months  after,  as  she  was  telling  her  experience 
with  us,  that  that  was  the  first  time  she  had 
lain  down  with  any  peace  of  mind  for  weeks. 

Well,  the  bigger  we  grew  the  more  Fanny 
loved  us,  and  so  we  did  her.  We  never  let  her 
go  down  in  the  orchard,  or  out  into  the  woods, 
or  to  fish  in  the  brook  but  what  we  went  with 
her,  and  we  drove  everything  and  everybody 
away,  unless  she  told  us  not  to. 

After  awhile  she  decided  that  she  wanted 
one  of  us  in  her  room  nights.  To  that  arrange- 
ment her  mother  at  first  strongly  objected ;  but 
her  father  plead  for  her,  and  the  mother  finally 
consented. 

When  the  cold  weather  came  on  Fanny  got  a 
rug,  and  had  Nero  sleep  on  that  rug  on  the 
foot  of  her  bed,  "  to  keep  her  feet  warm,"  she 
said. 

This  had  been  going  on  for  some  time  when 
Mr.  and  Mrs.  Bryant  went  out  to  visit  a  neigh- 
bor's at  some  kind  of  a  gathering,  and  left 
mother  and  me  outside  in  our  kennel  to  watch, 
and  Nero  to  remain  in  the  room  with  our  little 
friend  Fanny. 

The  hired  man  and  the  cook,  instead  of  re- 
maining at  home  as  they  were  expected  to, 
went  to  spend  the  evening  with  a  neighbor, 
thinking  it  would  be  all  right  with  Fanny,  as 
she  was  asleep.  But  it  had  been  ironing  day, 
and  the  clothes  had  been  left  hanging  in  the 
kitchen  to  air,  and  how  it  was  no  one  will  ever 
know,  but  in  some  way  they  took  fire.  Mother 
was  the  first  to  discover  it,  and  began  to  bark 
with  all  her  might  to  awaken  Fanny  and  Nero. 
I  remember  that  I  barked  too,  just  as  hard  and 
loud  as  I  could. 

Soon  Nero  heard  it,  and  began  to  feel  that 
something  must  be  the  matter  somewhere.  His 


SOME     OF     OUR    EARLIEST     SETTLERS. 


first  thought  was  that  he  ought  to  awaken  his 
young  mistress,  and  he  went  at  the  job  as  best 
he  knew.  But  she  was  too  sound  asleep  to  be 
awakened  by  barking,  do  the  best  he  could ;  so 
he  sprang  upon  her  shoulder  and  began  to  pull 
at  her  nightdress,  and  finally  took  her  by  the 
ear,  and  pulled  so  hard  that  it'  almost  started 
the  blood.  Then  she  awakened  in  a  great 
fright,  for  a  bright  light  was  shining  so  she 
could  see  everything  in  her  room.  * 

Pulling  on  her  shoes  and  stockings,  and 
wrapping  around  her  some  of  the  blankets 
from  her  bed,  she  opened  the  door,  which  for- 
tunately was  near  the  stairs. 

With  the  help  of  Nero  she  made  her  way 
through  the  smoke  to  the  street,  about  the  time 
the  neighbors  began  to  arrive.  They  were  too 
late  to  have  been  of  any  help  to  Fanny,  for  the 
flames  would  have  overtaken  her  before  they 
reached  there,  but  for  Nero.  By  the  time  Mr. 
and  Mrs.  Bryant  reached  home  the  house  was 
far  gone.  When  they  saw  the  flames  they 


seemed  almost  crazy  with  fright ;  for  they  re- 
membered that  they  had  left  their  only  child 
asleep  in  the  second  story.  It  was  some  min- 
utes before  they  could  be  made  to  understand 
that  Fanny  was  safe. 

She  and  Nero  had  been  hurried  to  the  house 
of  a  neighbor,  and  when  they  found  them 
Fanny  had  her  arms  around  Nero's  neck. 

When  Fanny  was  being  tucked  into  bed  for  a 
second  time  that  night  she  said  to  her  mother : 
"Are  you  not  glad  that  I  kept  Nero  from  being 
sold?  Because  if  he  had  not  been  there  to 
wake  me  up  you  wouldn't  have  had  any  little 
girl  now." 

From  that  time  Nero  was  a  great  pet,  and  I 
was  very  proud  of  him,  though  I  could  not 
help  being  a  little  bit  vexed  because  nobody 
gave  mother  and  me  any  credit  for  awakening 
him.  One  day  I  said  something  about  it  to 
her,  and  she  said:  "Never  mind,  Major;  we 
know  ourselves  that  we  did  our  duty,  and  that 
is  the  important  thing."  R. 


)UK    EARLIEST    SETTLEKS. 


A    "MIDSUMMER    NIGHT'S    DREAM." 


NIGHT'S  DREAM." 


HOW     TO     MAKE     A     SC11EEN     BAG.— ABOUT     MINNEAPOLIS. 


HOW   TO   MAKE  A   SCREEN   BAG. 

(Something  for  Mamma.) 

T  is  rny  opinion  that  the  little 
girl  who  makes  this  convenient 
thing  which  I  am  about  to  de- 
scribe, will  need  to  have  an 
accommodating  brother  who 
owns  a  box  of  tools  and  knows 
how  to  use  them.  Or  she  may  have  a  good 
friend  among  the  carpenters  who  are  at  work 
on  the  next  corner.  Still  another  way  would 
be  to  get  papa  enlisted  and  agree  to  divide 
mamma's  birthday  present  with  him ;  that  is, 
let  him  share  the  honor  of  getting  it  up. 

However  that  part  may  be  managed  here  is 
yours,  my  dear,  industrious  little  girl. 

The  name  of  the  article  is  Screen  Bag.  I 
have  no  doubt  you  know  how  fond  mamma  is 
of  bags,  of  all  shapes  and  sizes,  for  keeping  her 
unmended  stockings,  or  perhaps,  more  truthfully 
speaking,  your  and  your  brothers'  and  sisters' 
unmended  stockings,  for  balls  of  cord,  and  rolls 
of  tape,  and  papers  of  hooks  and  eyes,  and  I 
have  not  room  to  tell  how  many  other  things. 
Well,  this  Screen  Bag  is  just  the  thing.  First 
get  your  frames  made  of  common  pine  wood, 
three  of  them,  of  about  the  right  height  to  fur- 
nish a  comfortable  screen  for  mamma  if  she 
wishes  to  keep  the  wind  from  blowing  on  her, 
or  the  firelight  from  burning  her  face.  Indeed, 
you  must  decide  where  she  will  be  likely  to  want 
to  use  the  screen,  and  plan  its  size  accordingly. 
Then  you  want  some  bright  cloth  of  a  pretty 
color;  perhaps  red,  if  that  harmonizes  best 
with  the  colors  in  your  mother's  room,  or  pos- 
sibly blue  or  a  soft  rich  brown ;  what  you  will, 
so  that  it  is  strong.  Cretonne  is  good,  so  is 
the  striped  cotton  furniture  cloth  which  may  be 
found  at  any  upholsterer's,  and  in  nearly  all 
large  city  stores.  You  want  two  kinds ;  one 
for  the  front  and  one  for  the  back  of  your 
screen.  The  back  or  lining  side  need  not  be 
made  of  such  strong  material.  English  cam- 
bric or  common  calico  will  do  nicely.  Of 
course  the  amount  of  material  needed  will  de- 
pend upon  the  size  of  your  frames ;  some  care- 
ful measurements  with  a  tape  line  will  be 


necessary.  Now  get  your  "pockets"  readyr 
as  many  as  you  have  room  for,  and  of  what- 
ever size  you  think  the  most  useful.  The  first 
or  lower  row  should  be  a  little  larger  than  the 
ones  above.  The  screen  I  have  in  mind  had 
two  good-sized  pockets  below,  three  smaller 
ones  above,  four  above  them,  and  five  tiny 
ones  at  the  top.  These  may  be  made  of  the 
same  cloth  as  the  screen,  or  of  different  colors, 
according  to  your  taste  and  the  variety  of  ma- 
terial at  command.  They  should  be  hemmed 
neatly  at  the  top  and  stitched  firmly  to  the 
cloth ;  first  basted,  then  sewed  in  the  machine, 
to  insure  strength;  or,  if  you  do  not  under- 
stand a  sewing  machine,  and  want  to  do  all  the 
work  yourself,  you  can  take  strong  thread,  and 
make  a  back  stitch  for  every  third  or  fourth, 
one,  and  do  the  whole  by  hand. 

Now  you  want  some  brass-headed  nails  — 
round  heads,  you  know.  Finally,  your  frames 
are  ready  for  the  brass  hinges  on  which  they  are 
to  swing.  You  will  need  four  of  these,  and 
when  they  are  screwed  into  their  places  your  Bag 
Screen  will  be  finished.  Fifty- two  pockets ! 
My  word  for  it,  if  your  mamma  does  not  feel 
richer  than  she  ever  did  in  her  life,  after  she 
has  her  conveniences  packed  away  in  those  de- 
lightful pockets,  which  besides  holding  them, 
are  at  work  screening  her  from  the  heat,  or 
sun,  or  wind,  I  shall  be  very  much  astonished. 

I  shall  hope  to  hear  that  some  of  the  Pansies- 
have  tried  this  experiment. 

PANSY. 


ABOUT   MINNEAPOLIS. 

BY    THE    PANSIES. 

GOOD  many  years  ago  there 
used  to  be  a  city  named  St. 
Anthony.  It  was  built  on  the 
east  side  of  the  Mississippi 
River ;  then  a  city  grew  up  on 
the  west  side  named  Minne- 
apolis, and  after  awhile  it  swallowed  St.  An- 
thony and  made  one  big  city  of  itself  on  both 
sides  of  the  river.  I  think  St.  Anthony  would 
have  been  a  prettier  name  for  the  city,  on  ac- 


ABOUT     MINNEAPOLIS. 


count  of  the  Falls  of  St.  Anthony  being  right 
there.  But  Minneapolis  is  pretty,  too.  I  have 
never  been  there,  but  my  brother  has,  and  some 
day  he  is  going  to  take  me  a  long  journey  all 
over  the  West ;  then  we  will  visit  Minneapolis, 
and  I  will  write  to  the  Pansies  about  it. 

HELEN  M.  LEEDS. 


THE  flouring  mills  of  Minneapolis  are  the 
largest  in  the  world.  They  can  make  thirty- 
eight  thousand  barrels  of  flour  in  a  day  if  they 
want  to ;  and  I  guess  they  want  to,  for  their 
flour  is  famous  all  over  the  country.  I  order 
flour  for  my  grandmother,  and  she  won't  have 
a  barrel  which  does  not  say  "  Minneapolis"  on 
it.  I  should  think  the  coopers  would  all  get 
rich  out  there.  I  read  in  a  book  that  in  one 
year  they  sold  pretty  nearly  three  million 
barrels ! 

JOHN  WILLIS  LEEDS. 


I  DON'T  know  what  I  can  write  about  Minne- 
apolis. I  think  it  is  just  like  any  other  great 
big  city,  with  electric  lights,  and  street  cars, 
and  parks,  and  all  those  things,  of  course.  I 
think  cities  are  all  alike ;  I  like  the  country 
myself.  But  Minneapolis  grows  faster  than 
many  cities  do.  My  grandfather  was  there  in 
1860,  and  there  were  only  about  six  thousand 
inhabitants ;  now  there  are  two  hundred  and 
twenty-five  thousand.  Some  say  more,  but  I 
think  that  is  enough. 

HARVEY  CAMPBELL. 


I  AM  so  glad  it  has  come  time  to  write  about 
Minneapolis,  because  I  went  there  myself  only 
a  year  ago.  I  do  think  it  is  the  loveliest  place 
I  was  ever  in.  It  seems  more  like  a  great  big 
beautiful  town  than  a  city.  The  houses  are 
not  crowded  together  in  great  ugly-looking 
brick  rows,  all  just  alike,  as  they  are  in  Phila- 
delphia, and  on  some  streets  in  New  York ;  but 
almost  all  of  them  have  lovely  grounds,  and 
trees,  and  flowers,  and  pretty  lawns.  Oh !  I 
liked  it  all  so  much.  We  had  a  picnic'  out  at 
the  Falls  of  Minnehaha,  the  prettiest  place  I 
ever  saw  in  my  life.  There  is  a  magnificent 
park  out  there  of  more  than  a  hundred  acres, 
and  the  drive  all  the  way  through  the  city  to 


the  park  is  perfectly  beautiful.  Then  of  course 
the  falls  themselves  are  just  too  lovely !  We 
had  Mr.  Dickson  the  elocutionist  with  us,  and 
after  lunch  he  recited  parts  of  Longfellow's 
poem  about  "Minnehaha,  Laughing  Water." 
I  had  never  read  ' '  Hiawatha  "  then,  but  I  have 
since,  and  I  know  several  pages  of  it  by  heart. 
But  you  cannot  think  how  lovely  it  was  to  have 
Mr.  Dickson  recite  it  right  at  the  falls.  We 
took  a  great  many  lovely  drives  while  we  were 
in  the  city.  We  stopped  at  West  Hotel,  which 
is  one  of  the  finest  in  the  United  States,  or  for 
that  matter  in  the  world.  It  can  accommodate 
twelve  hundred  guests,  and  it  seemed  as  though 
there  must  be  that  number  in  the  house  while 
we  were  there.  When  we  met  in  the  great 
dining-room  it  seemed  queer  to  think  that  there 
were  more  people  there  than  can  be  found  in 
the  village  where  I  live.  Still  I  like  our  little 
village  in  the  summer,  and  would  not  exchange 
it  for  a  city.  I  would  like  to  describe  West 
Hotel,  but  I  cannot,  except  to  say  that  the 
furniture  was  grand,  and  everything  was  ele- 
gant. We  rode  past  Senator  Washburn's  house 
a  great  many  times.  It  is  out  on  Twenty-second 
Street  and  Third  Avenue,  and  has  ten  acres  of 
the  most  charming  grounds,  so  that  it  is  just 
the  same  to  him  as  living  in  the  country.  The 
house  is  built  of  a  kind  of  stone  which  is  called 
kasota,  and  is  very  beautiful.  I  did  not  mean 
to  make  my  letter  so  long,  but  there  is  a  great 
deal  to  tell. 

ALICE  WASHBURXE  MILLS. 


I  HAVE  an  aunt  who  is  very  fond  of  visiting 
churches.     When  she  goes  to  a  new  place,  it 
it  is  only  a  village,   she  wants  to  see  all  the- 
churches  and   know  about   them.     When   she- 
was  in  Minneapolis  first,  years  ago,  it  was  a  , 
little  bit  of  a  place,  and  my  aunt  is  an  old  lady,, 
and  does  not  read  the  newspapers  much,  and; 
did  not  realize  that  Minneapolis  had  grown  a, 
great  deal.     She  went  there  last  spring  to  visit; 
a  nephew.     She  reached  there  in  the  night,  and! 
was  taken  in  a  carriage  to  her  nephew's  house, 
and  did   not  realize  the  changes  at  all.     The 
next  morning  at  breakfast,  when  her  nephew 
asked  her  what  she  would  like   to  see   in  the 
city,  she  said  she  would  like  to  visit  the  different 


ABOUT    MINNEAPOLIS. 


to  an  old  lady.  She  saw  a  good 
many  of  the  churches,  among 
them  Dr.  AVaylaud  Hoyt's,  which 
she  said  she  liked  the  best  of 
all.  It  is  the  First  Baptist 
Church  of  Minneapolis,  and  cost 
two  hundred  thousand  dollars. 
It  will  seat  about  fifteen  hundred 
people.  I  thought  the  Pausies 
would  like  to  hear  about  it, 
because  Dr.  Hoyt  wrote  one 
of  our  "  Regret "  letters  for  us. 
MINNIE  ANDREWS. 


CITY    HALL    AND    COURT    SQUARE. 

churches  if  she  could,  and  that  perhaps  as  the 
day  was  pleasant  they  could  go  that  morning. 

"Very  well,"  said  her  nephew;   "to  which 
ones  shall  we  go  ?  " 

"Oh!  to  all  of  them,"  answered  my  aunt; 
"we  can  take  a  few  minutes  for  each  and  see 
them  all  this  f  ore- 
noou,  can  we 
not?" 

' '  Certainly , ' ' 
said  her  nephew ; 
"just  as  well  as 
not.  There  are 
only  about  a  hun- 
dred and  sixty, 
I  believe." 

And  that  was 
the  first  time  my 
aunt  knew  that 
she  was  in  a  big 
city  instead  of 
the  little  town  she 
had  left  thirty 
years  or  so  be- 
fore. But  I  don't 
think  her  nephew 
was  very  polite 


MY  uncle  is  a  lawyer  and  lives 
in  Minneapolis.  He  says  the 
City  Hall  is  just  splendid.  It 
cost  three  million  dollars.  Its 
great  tower  is  three  hundred  and 
forty-five  feet  high,  and  there  are 
only  two  others  in  the  United 
States  which  can  get  above  that. 
There  isn't  any  danger  that  this 
building  will  ever  burn  up,  for  it  is  made  fire 
proof.  I  wonder  why  they  don't  make  all 
buildings  fire  proof  ?  Then  we  would  not  have 
to  buy  engines,  and  pay  firemen,  and  keep  great 
splendid  horses  doing  nothing  all  day  long  but 
wait  for  fires.  This  City  Hall  which  I  began 


PUBLIC    LIBKAKY. 


ABOUT     MINNEAPOLIS. 


to  tell  you  about  is  three  hundred  feet  square, 
and  fills  up  a  great  block  on  four  streets.  I 
should  like  to  see  it.  My  uncle  has  a  photo- 
graph of  it,  and  it  looks  magnificent.  I  am 
going  to  be  a  lawyer,  and  I  shall  have  an  office 
in  Minneapolis. 

HARRY  DENNING. 


MY  father  was  acquainted  with  Governor 
Washburn,  who  gave  three  hundred  and 
seventy-five  thousand  dollars  for 
the  Washburn  Memorial  Orphan 
Asylum  in  Minneapolis .  My  father 
has  been  there  to  see  the  asylum. 
He  says  it  is  in  a  beautiful  place, 
with  lovely  trees  and  plants  in  the 
grounds.  There  were  fifty- seven 
orphans  there  when  father  visited 
it.  I  am  glad  they  have  such  a 
nice  place.  I  would  like  to  be 
rich,  like  Governor  Washburu,  and 
give  lots  of  money  to  something. 
I  think  I  shall  be,  and  I  shall 
found  an  orphan  asylum  some- 
where, but  not  in  Minneapolis, 
because  they  don't  need  another. 
HORACE  WEBSTER. 


and  fifty  feet  square.  That  is,  they  made  a 
big  hall  for  the  convention  inside  the  building, 
and  it  held  more  than  ten  thousand  people. 

My  sister  and  I  visited  the  Public  Library. 
It  is  a  very  handsome  building.  They  say  it 
cost  a  good  deal  over  three  hundred  thousand 
dollars.  We  sat  in  one  of  the  elegant  reading- 
rooms  and  read  books  while  our  uncle  was 
looking  up  something  in  books  of  reference. 
There  are  thousands  and  thousands  of  volumes 


MINNEAPOLIS  was  started  about 
the  same  time  that  St.  Anthony 
was.  They  grew  about  the  same 
for  awhile,  then  Minneapolis  got 
to  growing  so  fast  that  about  all 
which  could  be  heard  in  that  city 
was  the  pounding  of  hammers. 
Afterwards  St.  Anthony  and  Min- 
neapolis were  united. 

Minneapolis    was    naturally    a 
very  pretty  place,  and   until  the 
last  few   years  it   was  called  the 
prettiest  city  in  Minnesota,  but  now  St.  Paul 
is  prettier. 

MILLIE  ROWELL. 


THE   FALLS   OF   MIHNEHAHA. 


I  ATTENDED  the  International  Christian  En- 
deavor Convention  when  it  met  in  Minneapolis. 
I  was  a  Junior  delegate.  We  had  a  splendid 
time.  The  convention  was  held  in  the  great 
Exposition  building,  which  is  three  hundred 


there ;  I  did  know  how  many,  but  have  for- 
gotten. The  street  cars  in  Minneapolis  are  all 
electric.  My  sister  did  not  like  to  ride  on  them 
when  there  was  a  thunderstorm,  but  I  was  not 
afraid.  There  are  lots  of  lakes  all  around  that 
part  of  the  country,  and  of  course  the  Falls  of 
St.  Anthony  are  there.  It  is  queer  to  have  a 
splendid  falls  in  the  midst  of  a  city.% 

I  think  I  like  Minneapolis  better  than  any 


THE     OSBORNE    HOME. 


place  I  was  ever  in.  I  may  go  to  stay  with 
my  uncle  and  attend  the  University  of  Minne- 
sota, which  is  there.  That  is  what  I  want  to 
do.  If  I  go  I  shall  know  more  about  Minne- 
apolis, and  will  write  again. 

THOMAS  BAILEY  ATWOOD. 


THE   OSBORNE   HOME. 

(Character  Studies.) 

LL  day  long  the  Osborne  home 
had  been  in  a  state  of  excite- 
ment. It  had  been  very  diffi- 
cult for  the  family  to  attend  to 
its  usual  duties.  The  little 
girls  had  at  first  declared  that 
they  could  not  go  to  school  at  all ;  and  then, 
being  convinced  that  they  must,  it  had  been 
nearly  impossible  to  get  them  ready  in  time. 
Even  the  baby  had  caught  the  unrest,  and  re- 
fused to  take  his  long  morning  nap  and  give 
the  seventeen-year-old  sister  Mary  a  chance  to 
attend  to  the  work.  The  explanation  was  that 
mother  was  coming  home.  She  had  been  away 
a  whole  month,  an  unheard-of  thing  in  the  his- 
tory of  the  family  before  this  season. 

The  fact  is,  Mrs.  Osborne  was  one  of  those 
mothers  who  would  never  have  been  persuaded 
to  leave  her  home  and  her  children  had  it  not 
become  a  serious  duty  to  do  so.  She  had  been 
in  poor  health  for  several  months,  and  grand- 
mamma had  written  and  coaxed  and  urged,  and 
at  last  almost  commanded  that  she  should  come 
back  to  the  old  home  and  the  old  physician,  and 
see  if  he  could  not  help  her.  One  terrible  thing 
about  it  was,  that  this  same  physician  refused 
to  allow  her  to  bring  her  baby  along.  "I  know 
just  how  it  will  be,"  he  said,  shaking  his  gray 
head  and  looking  wise.  "The  baby  is  a  strong, 
healthy  little  fellow,  and  a  perfect  tyrant  as 
they  all  are,  and  he  will  be  carried,  and  put  to 
sleep,  and  fed,  and  petted  by  his  mother  and 
nobody  else ;  he  will  be  more  positive  about  it 
than  usual,  being  among  strangers,  and  he  will 
just  keep  her  worn  out.  There  is  no  use  in 
talking,  Mrs.  Fuller,  I  know  your  daughter 
Mary  of  old,  and  I  will  not  consent  to  try  to 


help  her  unless  she  will  leave  that  fellow  ai 
home  and  come  away  from  all  care  for  & 
month." 

Well,  the  doctor  had  had  his  way,  as  IM 
nearly  always  did,  and  Mrs.  Osborne,  havm/» 
declared  that  it  would  be  utterly  impossible  to 
go  away  from  home  and  leave  Baby  and  th»i 
little  girls,  and  only  Mary  to  look  after  them 
all,  had  been  gotten  ready  and  carried  to  thii 
cars.  And  a  whole  month  had  passed,  am\ 
she,  wonderfully  improved,  was  coming  homo 
to-day.  Father  had  driven  to  the  depot  threo 
miles  away  to  meet  her,  and  the  house  was  in 
commotion. 

Mary,  the  housekeeper,  nurse  and  mother-in- 
charge,  had  had  a  busy  day.  There  were  still 
a  dozen  things  which  she  meant  to  have  done 
before  mother  came,  not  the  least  among  them 
being  to  get  herself  in  order ;  for  her  apron  was 
torn,  her  slippers  were  down  at  the  heel,  her 
hair  was  what  her  father  called  "frowsly,"  and, 
in  short,  she  did  not  look  in  the  least  as  she 
meant  to  when  the  mother  should  put  her  arms 
around  her.  Then  there  were  last  things  to  be 
done  all  over  the  house,  and  the  table  to  be  set 
for  the  early  tea-dinner  which  was  to  do  honor 
to  the  traveler's  newly-found  appetite.  Yet, 
notwithstanding  all  this,  Mary,  feeling  sure 
that  the  time  must  now  be  short,  allowed  her- 
self to  drop  down  into  the  chair  which  she  had 
been  dusting,  draw  from  her  pocket  the  mother's 
last  letter,  whose  contents  she  knew  by  heart, 
and  glancing  at  it,  go  to  studying  for  the  doz- 
enth time  the  possibility  that  her  mother  might 
have  meant  the  evening  train  instead  of  the 
afternoon,  in  which  case  she  would  not  be  there 
for  several  hours. 

"Let  me  see;  I  almost  believe  that  is  the 
way,  after  all,"  she  said,  biting  the  feather  end 
of  the  old  quill  which  she  had  picked  up  some- 
where in  her  dusting,  and  looking  vexed  and 
disheartened.  "  I  am  sure  I  don't  know  how 
I  am  to  keep  the  children  from  growing  wild, 
if  they  have  to  wait  three  hours  longer." 

Meantime,  the  children,  in  the  other  room, 
were  in  various  stages  of  excitement.  Helen, 
the  older  of  the  three,  in  whose  charge  Baby 
Joe  was  especially  put,  occupied  herself  in  rac- 
ing to  the  front  gate  every  few  minutes  to  see 


THE     OSBORNE    HOME. 


if  she  could  not  get  a  glimpse  of  her  father's 
horse  and  wagon  climbing  the  hill;  and  Baby 
Joe,  each  time  she  went,  either  reached  after 
and  tumbled  over  something  which  he  ought 
not  to  have  touched,  or  tumbled  down,  in  his 
eager  haste  to  follow  to  the  gate.  In  this  way 
the  room  was  being  put  into  more  or  less 
disorder. 

' '  How  perfectly  silly  you  are  !  "  said  Jessie, 
looking  up  from  the  book  she  was  reading,  as 
Helen  came  back  panting  for  the  third  time. 
"  Just  as  though  racing  to  the  gate  every  few 
minutes  would  bring  them  any  quicker!  and 
look  at  Joe ;  he  has  tipped  the  spools  all  out 
of  mother's  box.  A  nice  tangle  they  will  be  in." 

"Why  didn't  you  keep  him  from  them  then?  " 
asked  Helen  irritably ;  ' '  you  are  doing  nothing 
but  pore  over  a  story  book.  I  should  think 
you  would  go  and  comb  your  hair  and  change 
your  dress.  Mother  will  not  like  to  see  you  in 
such  a  tangle,  I  can  tell  you." 

"There  is  time  enough,"  said  Jessie,  yawn- 
ing. "I  can't  do  anything  but  read  a  story 
book ;  it  is  impossible  to  settle  to  anything 
when  mother  is  so  near  home  as  she  must  be 
by  this  time.  I  haven't  done  a  thing  this 
afternoon ;  I  couldn't.  I  don't  see  how  Elsie 
can  bend  over  that  stupid  History,  just  as  if 
nothing  unusual  was  going  to  happen." 

This  made  Elsie  raise  her  eyes ;  they  were 
pretty  brown  ones.  She  was  a  little  girl  of 
about  ten,  in  a  neat  blue  dress,  and  with  her 
hair  in  perfect  prder.  "  I  thought  it  would  be 
a  good  plan  to  get  my  history  ready  for  to- 
morrow while  I  was  waiting,"  she  said,  "then 
I  will  not  have  to  study  this  evening,  when  I 
want  to  listen  to  mother.  I  should  think  you 
would  like  to  get  your  examples  done ;  and 
anyhow,  Jessie,  you  ought  to  comb  your  hair ; 
it  looks  like  a  fright." 

"I  mean  to,  of  course,"  said  Jessie.  "I 
dare  say  there  is  time  enough.  Father  can't 
drive  fast  on  such  a  warm  afternoon ;  and  be- 
sides, Mary  said  she  wouldn't  be  at  all  surprised 
if  he  should  have  to  wait  for  the  evening  train. 
Wouldn't  that  be  just  horrid !  If  it  were  not 
for  the  lovely  story  I  am  reading  I  couldn't 
endure  this  waiting  another  minute." 

"It's  easier  to  wait  when  you  are  at  work 


doing  what  ought  to  be  done,"  said  Elsie,  with 
the  air  of  a  philosopher. 

"Oh!  you  are  a  regular  Miss  Prim,"  said 
Helen,  laughing,  as  she  stooped  to  pick  little 
Joe  out  of  another  piece  of  carefully  planned 
mischief ;  "for  my  part,  I  think  it  is  horrid  to 
have  anything  that  ought  to  be  done  at  such  a 
time.  Joe,  you  little  nuisance,  I  do  wish  you 
would  go  to  sleep,  and  give  me  a  chance  to 
watch  for  mother.  I  hope  I  shall  get  all  the 
things  picked  up  and  put  to  rights  that  you 
have  upset  before  mother  comes ;  she  will  not 
be  charmed  with  the  looks  of  the  room  if  I 
don't.  However,  there  really  must  be  oceans 
of  time  yet." 

"Then  why  did  you  race  down  to  the  gate 
every  few  minutes  to  see  if  they  were  coming  ?  " 
Jessie  asked. 

"Oh!  because  I  did  not  know  what  else  to 
do,"  said  Helen;  "I  knew  better,  of  course. 
Take  care,  Joe !  There,  I  declare !  he  has 
done  it  now." 

Sure  enough  he  had !  Jerked  at  the  table 
spread  where  Helen  herself  had  set  the  ink- 
stand, intending  to  put  it  away  in  a  few  min- 
utes, and  sent  a  black  stream  not  only  over  his 
own  white  dress,  but  on  the  carpet  as  well. 
Mary,  who  still  sat  studying  the  letter,  and 
thinking  of  the  things  which  she  meant  to  ac- 
complish before  her  mother  came,  having  by 
this  time  decided  that  it  was  entirely  probable 
that  they  must  wait  for  the  evening  train,  heard 
the  exclamations  of  dismay  from  the  other 
room,  and  rose  up  to  see  what  was  the  trouble ; 
but  at  that  instant  an  eager  cry  from  Elsie : 
' '  There  they  come !  "  sounded  on  the  ears  of 
all.  Helen  gathered  up  the  screaming  Joe 
under  one  arm,  and  calling  to  Mary  to  look 
out  for  the  ink  on  the  carpet,  ran  out  of  one 
door,  just  as  Jessie  scurried  out  of  another, 
eager  to  dash  upstairs  and  brush  her  hair  before 
her  father  saw  her ;  for  his  last  charge  had  been 
to  her  to  see  to  it  that  she  did  not  appear  before 
her  mother  in  that  plight.  Mary,  burning  with 
shame  and  disappointment  over  the  little  last 
things  which  she  meant  to  have  ready,  waited 
to  mop  up  the  ink,  while  Elsie,  closing  the  door 
on  the  disordered  room,  went  forward  to  meet 
the  beloved  mother.  MYKA  STAFFORD. 


THE     OSBORNE     HOME. 


"LET  WE  SEE!  " 


IN     THE     CABIN     OF     THE     MAYFLOWER. 


IN  THE  CABIN  OF  THE   MAYFLOWER. 

HIS  is  a  company  of  Pilgrims 
in  the  cabin  of  the  blessed  ship 
Mayflower,  on  their  way  over 
a  stormy  sea  from  Plymouth, 
England,  to  find  a  place  in 
America  where  they  may  wor- 
ship God  ' '  according  to  the  dictates  of  their 
own  consciences." 

This  was   two   hundred   and   seventy  years 
ago.     Of  course  the  people  did  not  dress  then 


not  complain,  as  they  believed  God  held  the 
waves  in  his  hand,  and  he  was  guiding  the 
Mayflower  as  much  as  he  did  the  Israelites  to 
Palestine  —  "a  land  flowing  with  milk  and 
honey."  So  they  patiently  and  cheerfully 
waited  in  the  Mayflower's  small  cabin,  often 
singing  hymns  and  praying  and  encouraging 
each  other. 

At  last  on  Monday,  December  21,  1620,  they 
landed  on  Plymouth  Rock,  Mass.,  happy  as 
birds  escaped  from  a  cage. 

They  had    much    trouble  with  the  Indians ; 


A   COMPANY    OF   PILGRIMS. 


just  as  they  do  now,  as  you  can  well  see  by 
noticing  their  broad  collars  and  queer  trousers. 
How  queer  our  dress  will  look  to  our  great- 
grandchildren. 

The  dear  Mayflower  was  not  such  a  grand 
ship  as  the  Cuuarder.  It  had  to  depend  —  not 
upon  steam  —  but  upon  a  favoring  wind,  and 
the  wind  does  not  always  seem  to  favor,  so  it 
took  her  weeks  to  cross  the  stormy  Atlantic, 
and  the  passengers  (Puritans  they  were  called) 
were  very  sick ;  but  because  they  had  suffered 
so  much  from  cruel  people  in  England  they  did 


but  after  a  time  they  began  to  build,  with  other 
Pilgrims,  at  other  points,  our  great  nation. 

L. 


THERE  is  a  woman  living  in  Manchester^ 
England,  who  is  said  to  have  a  Bible  two  feet 
long  and  nearly  two  feet  wide.  At  the  top  of 
each  page  is  printed  in  red  ink:  "This  is  a 
history."-  The  Bible  is  two  hundred  years 
old,  and  is  the  largest  one  in  the  world,  it  is 
supposed. 


BABY'S     CORNER. 


BABY'S   CORNER. 
BABY'S  CLOCK. 


Bimeby  the  sun  gets  up  and  it's  six  o'clock 
in  the  morning. 

Then  mamma  opens  one  eye  and  I  can  hear 
her  say : 

OBODY  finks  I  can  tell  the  time         "  Where's  my  baby  ?  " 
of  day,  but  I  can.  N'en  I  keep  still  —  jus'  as  still  as  a  mouse, 

The  first  hour  is  five  o'clock     an'  she  keeps  saying : 


in  the  morning. 


"  Where's  my  baby?  " 


That's    the   time  the    birds         N'en  all  at  once  I  go  ^'Boo!"  and  she  laughs 
begin  to  peep.     I  lie  still  and  hear  them  sing :     and  hugs  me,  and  says  "  I'm  a  precious/' 


BABY   TELLS   THE  TIME  OF   DAY. 


"Tweet,  tweet,  tweet! 
Chee,  chee,  chee!" 


Mamma's  nice,  and  I  love  her  'cept  when  she 
washes  my  face  too  hard    and   pulls   my  hair 
But  mamma  is  fast  asleep.     Nobody  awake     with  the  comb, 
in  all  the  world  but  just  me  and  the  birds.  Seven  o'clock ! 


BABY'S     CORNER. 


That's  when  the  bell  goes  jingle,  jingle,  and 
we  have  breakfast. 

All  the  eight  an'  nine  an'  ten  an'  'leven 
hours  I  play. 

I  run  after  butterflies  and  squirrels,  and 
swing,  and  read  my  picture  book,  and  some- 
times I  cry  —  jus'  a  little  bit. 

Twelve  o'clock ! 

That's  a  bu'ful  hour.  The  clock  strikes  a 
lot  of  times,  and  the  big  whistle  goes,  and  the 
bell  rings,  and  papa  comes  home,  and  dinner's 
ready ! 

The  one  and  two  hours  are  lost.  Mamma 
always  carries  me  off  to  take  a  nap.  I  don't 
like  naps.  They  waste  time. 

When  we  wake  up  the  clock  strikes  three. 
N'en  I  have  on  my  pink  dress,  and  we  go  walk- 
ing or  riding. 

And  so  the  three  and  four  and  five  hours  are 
gone. 

At  six  o'clock  Bossy  comes  home,  and  I  have 
my  drink  of  warm  milk. 

N'en  I  put  on  my  white  gown,  and  kiss 
everybody  "  good-night,"  and  say  "  Now  I  lay 
me,"  and  get  into  my  bed. 

Mamma  says : 

' '  Now  the  sun  and  the  birdies  and  my  little 
baby  are  all  gone  to  bed,  and  to  sleep,  sleep, 
sleep." 

So  I  shut  my  eyes  tight,  and  next  you  know 
'tis  morning ! 

An'  'uat's  all  the  time  there  is. 

MRS.  C.  M.  LIVINGSTON. 


OCTOBER'S    PARTY. 

OCTOBER  gave  a  party  — 
The  leaves  by  hundreds  came 
The  Chestnuts,  Oaks  and  Maples, 
And  leaves  of  every  name  ; 


The  sunshine  spread  a  carpet, 
And  everything  was  grand  ; 

Miss  Weather  led  the  dancing, 
Professor  Wind  the  band. 

The  Chestnuts  came  in  yellow, 
The  Oaks  in  crimson  dressed ; 

The  lovely  Misses  Maple 
In  scarlet  looked  their  best. 

All  balanced  to  their  partners, 
And  gaily  fluttered  by ; 


The  sight  was  like  a  rainbow 
New-fallen  from  the  sky. 

Then  iivthe  rustic  hollows 

At  hide-and-seek  they  played. 

The  party  closed  at  sundown, 
And  everybody  staid. 

Professor  Wind  played  louder, 
They  flew  along  the  ground, 

And  then  the  party  ended 

In  "hands  across,  all  round." 
From  '•'•Song  Stories  for  Little  People. 


FIVE- MINUTE     ACQUAINTANCES. 


FIVE-MINUTE   ACQUAINTANCES. 

(Character  Studies.) 


T  was  a  bright  cool  morning 
that  we  were  riding  down 
Delaware  Avenue  in  a  street 
car  which  had  very  few  pas- 
sengers. It  gave  me  a  chance 
to  study  human  nature.  I  be- 
gan the  study  with  a  very  handsomely 'dressed 
boy.  Jacket  and  collar  and  necktie  and  hair 
all  showed  that  very  careful  people  had  planned 
for  him,  and  that  they  had  plenty  of  money  to 
spend  on  him.  They  came  into  the  car  just 
after  I  was  seated,  the  boy  and  his  mother. 
She  was  tall  and  pale,  and  in  deep  mourning ; 
I  wondered  if  her  husband  were  dead,  and  if 
this  boy  were  the  only  one  she  had  to  think 
about  or  care  for  her.  If  so  she  was  to  be 
pitied,  poor  woman  !  for  it  soon  became  evident 
that  the  young  man  thought  about  and  cared 
for  himself.  His  first  exhibition  was  to  fling 
his  heavy  overcoat  on  his  mother's  lap  as  he 
said:  "Here,  mamma,  hold  that,  and  give 
me  the  tickets  for  the  conductor." 

"I  haven't  tickets,  dear,"  she  said;  "I  shall 
have  to  buy  some." 

"  O,  well!  all  right,  give  me  your  pocket- 
book  and  let  me  buy  them." 

"  No,  dear,  there  is  a  good  deal  of  money  in 
my  pocket-book,  and  some  valuable  papers." 

"What  of  that?"  he  said,  in  a  tone  loud 
enough  for  all  the  passengers  to  hear;  "I  ain't 
going  to  lose  them ;  don't  I  know  how  to  take 
care  of  things?  Give  me  the  purse."  It  was 
passed  over  without  more  words. 

"Take  a  quarter  from  the  silver  money," 
the  mother  advised  a  moment  later. 

"O,  no,  mamma!  I  want  to  give  him  a  bill, 
to  see  if  he  makes  the  right  change.  Here's  a 
five ;  that  will  do ;  no,  let  me  see."  He  jerked 
his  arm  suddenly  away  from  the  mother's  hand, 
which  reached  after  the  pocket-book,  and  sev- 
eral pieces  of  silver  flew  out  and  rolled  around 
on  the  floor. 

"There!"  he  said,  in  a  reproachful  tone, 
"see  what  you  have  made  me  do;  now  you 
have  lost  some  of  your  money." 


"  Pick  it  up,  Harold,  that's  a  good  boy." 

He  stooped  and  picked  up  a  twenty-five  cent 
piece,  then  said  : 

"Never  mind  the  rest.  It  has  rolled  round 
under  the  seat  somewhere,  and  it  is  all  dust ;  I 
can't  get  down  on  my  knees  and  hunt ;  never 
mind,  let  it  go.  Say,  mamma,  give  me  that 
box  of  candy." 

"Not  now;  I  would  rather  you  did  not  eat 
any  more  candy,  Harold,  until  we  get  home." 

"Why  not?  I  don't  want  to  wait;  I  haven't 
eaten  much.  Come,  it's  my  candy,  and  I  want 
it.  You  bought  it  for  me,  and  I  think  you  are 
mean  not  to  let  me  have  it." 

"Hush,  Harold!  do  not  talk  so  loud.  Hold 
your  overcoat,  dear;  it  is  too  heavy  for 
mamma." 

"  Oh !  I  can't,  it  is  too  hot.  I  did  not  need 
that  great  big  overcoat  anyhow,  and  I  told  you 
so.  I'm  not  going  to  hold  it.  Drop  it  on  the 
floor  if  you  don't  want  to  keep  it.  But  give 
me  that  box  of  candy.  O,  mamma !  there's  a 
procession  coming  down  the  street  —  soldiers, 
and  everything.  I'm  going  out  on  the  platform 
to  see  them." 

He  made  a  dash  forward,  and  the  pale, 
anxious  mother  reached  after  him,  trying  to 
arrest  his  steps,  dropping  as  she  did  so  not 
only  the  overcoat,  but  the  pocket-book  again. 
The  pennies  and  the  ten-cent  pieces  rolled 
around  freely,  while  Harold,  looking  behind 
him,  gave  a  mocking  laugh,  and  was  out  on 
the  platform. 

They  had  not  been  in  the  car  over  five  min- 
utes. And  yet  I  was  quite  as  well  acquainted 
with  Harold  as  I  had  any  desire  to  be. 

At  the  North  Street  corner  the  pale  little 
mother  left  the  car  with  the  heavy  overcoat 
over  one  arm,  and  the  pocket-book,  with  what 
change  she  had  been  able  to  find,  in  her  hand, 
while  Harold,  tugging  at  her  sleeve,  was  heard 
to  say,  "Mamma,  I  want  that  candy  this 
minute !  " 

At  Reed  Street  came  three  passengers,  a  boy 
about  the  size  of  the  one  who  had  left  us,  and 
two  little  girls,  one  perhaps  seven,  and  the 
other  not  over  four.  The  boy  was  freckled- 
faced,  and  by  no  means  so  handsome  as  Harold. 
His  clothes  were  very  neat,  but  of  the  coarse, 


A     SHOCKING     EXPERIENCE, 


A   SHOCKING    EXPERIENCE. 


THINGS    WHICH     SOME    PEOPLE    REGRET. 


common  sort  worn  by  children  of  the  moderately 
poor.  The  little  girls  beside  him  were  as  neat 
as  wax  —  faces  and  hands  and  hair  in  perfect 
order;  but  their  sacks  and  hats  weue  of  last 
year's  fashion  —  perhaps  older  still  than  that — 
and  I  fancy  Harold  would  have  laughed  out- 
right at  the  little  old  overcoat  which  hung  over 
the  boy's  arm. 

They  took  their  seats  quietly,  and  made  no 
disturbance  of  any  sort.  But  there  were  so 
few  in  the  car,  and  we  were  passing  at  that 
time  through  such  a  quiet  street,  that  I  could 
hear  distinctly  the  words  they  spoke  to  one 
another. 

"Better  put  on  your  sack,  Janie,"  said  the 
boy,  with  a  thoughtful  air,  looking  at  the  older 
sister,  "the  wind  blows  in  pretty  strong  here." 
Janie  immediately  arose  and  began  tugging  at 
her  sack.  The  boy,  with  the  manners  of  a 
gentleman  accustomed  to  the  work,  took  hold 
of  it  at  the  shoulders  and  skillfully  steered  the 
little  arms  into  place,  pulling  it  down  behind, 
and  bestowing  meanwhile  side  glances  upon  the 
little  sister. 

"Sit  still,  Bessie,  that's  a  good  girl.  No, 
don't  stand,  dear;  mamma  wouldn't  like  you 
to  stand,  the  cars  shake  so." 

Down  sat  Bessie  again,  trying  to  put  herself 
squarely  on  the  seat.  Failing  in  this  her  pro- 
tector turned  next  to  her,  lifted  her  plump  little 
form  into  place,  then  straightened  her  hat  and 
returned  a  confiding  smile  which  she  gave  him. 
Meantime  the  car  was  filling  up,  and  in  a  few 
minutes  every  seat  was  taken.  There  came 
next  a  middle-aged  woman,  black  of  face,  and 
very  shabby  as  to  toilet,  with  a  market  basket 
on  her  arm.  Quick  as  thought  the  little  gen- 
tleman arose,  and  touching  her  arm  motioned 
her  to  his  seat.  Then  Janie  reached  forward 
for  his  overcoat.  "Let  me  hold  your  over- 
coat, Charlie,"  she  said,  "because  you  haven't 
any  seat." 

"O,  no!  "  said  Charlie,  smiling  back  at  her, 
' '  I  can  carry  it  as  well  as  not.  Bessie  dear, 
don't  climb  up  that  way,  you  will  fall." 

Down  sat  Bessie,  who  had  mounted  on  her 
fat  little  knees  to  look  out  of  the  window. 

"Now,  Janie,"  said  the  little  man  at  last, 
when  they  were  near  the  Dean  Street  crossing, 


"  we  are  to  get  out  at  this  corner.  I  will  take 
Bessie's  hand  and  go  ahead,  and  you  keep  close 
to  me.  We  will  stand  still  on  the  sidewalk 
until  the  car  passes,  then  I  will  take  you  both 
across." 

Away  they  went,  and  I  watched  them  making 
their  way  carefully  across  the  crowded  street, 
the  brother's  arm  thrown  protectingly  around 
Bessie,  and  his  eyes  on  the  watch  for  any  pos- 
sible danger  to  either  of  his  charges.  I  had 
made  his  acquaintance  in  five  minutes,  too,  and 
knew  more  about  him  than  he  would  have 
imagined  possible. 

MYRA  SPAFFORD. 


THINGS   WHICH   SOME   PEOPLE 
REGRET. 

THE  ' '  Regret "  which  we  give  you  this 
month  comes  from  a  very  high  source. 
Almost  every  scholar  of  ancient  languages  will 
recognize  the  name.  It  is  a  very  pleasant 
thought  that  these  great  men  out  of  their  busy 
lives  have  stopped  to  give  us  a  glimpse  of 
their  past,  in  order  to  help  the  young  people 
of  to-day,  who  will  be  the  men  and  women  of 
to-morrow,  to  avoid  the  mistakes  which  they 
did  not.  We  hope  and  believe  that  the  Pansies 
will  receive  great  benefit  from  these  glimpses 
from  the  youth  of  great  people. 

"  I  regret  that  I  have  not  better  acquired  the  art  of  pleas- 
antly acknowledging  the  kindnesses  shown  me,  and  of  showing 
my  appreciation  of  people  whom  I  really  do  appreciate.  My 
influence  with  many  would  be  greatly  increased  if  I  could 
but  make  them  understand  how  warmly  my  heart  goes  out 
to  them." 

WILLIS  J.  BEECHEF. 

DR.  W.  J.  BEECHER,  Professor  of  Hebrew  in  Auburn 
Theological  Seminary. 


(Luke  ix.  23;  xiv.  27.) 

AND  didst  thou  hear  the  Master  say 
He  that  would  my  disciple  be, 
Let  him  deny  himself  each  day, 

Take  up  his  cross,  and  follow  me? 
Oh !  wondrous  love,  that  did  devise 

For  us  this  "straight  and  narrow  way,' 
Beyond  which,  in  the  distance,  lies 
The  realms  of  pure  and  perfect  day. 


THE    UPS   AND    DOWNS    OF    LIFE. 


A     HAPPY     BOY.  —  MAJOR'S     AUTOBIOGRAPHY. 


MAJOR'S   AUTOBIOGRAPHY. 


A   HAPPY   BOY. 

HIS  name  is  Willie  Addis,  and  he  lives  in 
Plainfield,  N.  J.  A  few  weeks  ago  his 
mother  turned  down  the  wicks  of  her  kerosene 
stove,  and  leaned  over  it  to  blow  out  the  flame, 
when  the  stove  exploded,  and  in  an  instant 
she  was  in  flames.  With  one  bound  Willie 
was  in  the  kitchen,  seizing  the  large  woolen 
mat  from  the  floor  as  he  ran,  and  in  less  time 
than  it  takes  me  to  tell  it,  he  had  wrapped  the 
mat  about  his*  mother  and  extinguished  the 
flames  !  The  kitchen  furniture  was  burned,  but 
that  was  about  all,  and  the  dear  mother  was 
saved  by  her  quick-witted  ten-year-old  son, 
who  had  heard  somewhere  that  woolen  wrapped 
closely  about  a  burning  object  so  as  to  exclude 
the  air,  will  put  out  the  fire.  It  is  not  every 
boy  of  his  age  who  knows  that  fact ;  and  there 
are  many  who,  knowing  it,  would  not  have  had 
presence  of  mind  enough  to  have  applied  their 
knowledge  promptly.  Willie  did,  and  he  has 
his  mother.  Certainly  I  think  he  must  be  a 
happy  boy,  and  I  am  sure  she  is  a  glad,  proud 
mother. 

How  is  one  to  help  hoping  and  praying  that 
he  may  never  be  other  than  a  joy  to  her  in  the 
vears  to  come? 


AM  very  fond  of  the  little 
ones,  and  like  to  have  them 
around  me,  and  as  the  puppies 
are  in  the  majority  it  will  be 
their  turn  to  have  a  short  story 
this  time. 

If  you  do  not  ha\*e  to  go  home  too  soon  per- 
haps I  will  have  time  to  tell  you  more  than  one ; 
we  will  see.  Oh !  the  children  are  to  stay  to 
tea,  are  they  ?  All  right.  Now,  attention ! 

All  those  who  would  like  to  hear  a  story 
about  a  chicken —  "  a  real  truly  story,"  as  the 
children  say — wag  your  tails. 

Those  opposed,  bark.  Carried.  The  vote 
for  the  chicken  story  is  about  unanimous. 

I  suppose  some  of  you  have  very  poor  opin- 
ions of  chickens  and  hens ;  you  think  because 
they  have  but  two  legs,  and  are  so  easily  fright- 
ened, they  don't  amount  to  much ;  but  the  mas- 
ter and  mistress  think  quite  differently  when 
they  eat  the  nice  fresh  eggs  which  the  hens 
furnish.  Why,  some  of  those  proud  young 
crowers  have  hearts  as  well  as  we.  I  remem- 
ber so  well  a  little  old  white  blind  hen  which 
my  master  once  had,  and  how  kindly  she  was 
treated.  (She  could  see  just  a  little  with  one 
eye,  but  we  called  her  blind.) 

The  young  man  who  worked  upon  the  place 
took  a  fancy  to  "Old  Whitey,"  as  they  called 
her,  and  when  master  wanted  to  send  her  to 
market  this  fellow  pretended  he  couldn't  find 
her,  so  she  was  kept  till  very  old. 

The  gallant  young  crowers  which  roosted  in 
the  same  shed  with  her  would  never  fight  this 
old  "grandmother,"  but  were  just  as  kind  to 
her  as  they  knew  how  to  be.  Sometimes  when 
one  of  them  had  found  a  nice  lot  of  worms 
under  something  he  had  scratched  over, 
' '  Whitey "  would  come  along  hungry,  and  he 
would  leave  the  nice  mess  for  her,  and  look 
further  for  himself. 

Was  not  that  gallant  and  kind?  Would  all 
of  you  do  as  well  as  that?  Be  as  unselfish? 

But  this  is  not  the  chicken  I  was  to  tell  you 
about.  He  was  a  poor  orphan,  his  mother 
having  died  when  he  was  but  a  little  yellow  ball 
upon  two  little  pins  of  legs. 


AN  ORIENTAL    SHEPHERD. 


A     CAREFUL    MOTHER. 


I  had  not  much  to  do  with  this  pet,  only  as 
I  visited  his  home  occasionally,  and  saw  and 
played  with  him  a  little. 

It  was  my  cousin  Tip  who  had  most  to  do 
with  this  bright  feathered  fellow,  and  to  whom 
he  was  indebted  for  most  of  his  education. 

Tip  was  a  great  favorite  ;  in  fact,  his  mistress 
was  fond  of  all  sorts  of  pets ;  had  a  name  for 
each  of  her  cows,  and  for  every  one  of  her 
hens,  so  she  had  a  name  for  this  chicken. 

Tip  used  to  go  about  wherever  he  pleased, 
and  so  did  the  chicken.  My  cousin  was  in  the 
habit  of  taking  almost  anything  he  could  find, 
and  dragging  it  to  the  spot  where  he  wished 
to  lie,  then  make  a  bed  of  it  and  go  to  sleep. 

His  little  friend  the  chicken  for  awhile 
watched  him  with  envious  eyes  —  for  I  regret 
to  say  Cousin  Tip  was  too  selfish  to  provide  a 
bed  for  any  one  besides  himself. 

But  this  chicken  evidently  thought  ' '  what 
had  been  done  could  be  done,"  so  he  asserted 
his  independence,  and  gathered  up  what  he 
could  carry  or  drag ;  put  the  articles  —  stock- 
ings, handkerchiefs  or  rags — in  a  heap  near 
Tip's  bed,  and  would  then  tread  them  down  as 
he  had  seen  Tip  do,  and  squat  upon  them  for  a 
make-believe  nap.  Now  wasn't  that  a  pretty 
bright  chicken,  and  was  not  Tip  a  pretty 
successful  teacher  for  one  so  young  ? 

No,  that  lesson  wouldn't  be  much  for  a  bright 
little  dog  to  learn ;  but  we  do  not  expect  much 
intelligence  in  a  hen  or  rooster. 

I  suppose  they  cannot  understand  what  peo- 
ple say  to  them  as  we  do.  And  some  people 
do  not  seem  to  think  we  understand  what  they 
tell  us  to  do  or  not  to  do,  even  when  they  tell 
us  we  have  done  well. 

I  remember  so  well  when  I  was  young,  though 
almost  as  large  as  I  am  now,  how  I  astonished 
a  lady  by  acting  as  though  I  understood  what 
she  said  to  me. 

It  was  in  the  country,  where  the  houses  were 
quite  a  distance  apart.  I  had  been  caring  for 
this  woman's  little  girl  for  more  than  a  week, 
and  had  kept  her  out  of  lots  of  mischief,  and 
prevented  her  from  getting  many  an  ugly  fall, 
though  I  had  never  been  asked  to  do  it. 

One  day  little  Cynthia  (that  was  her  name) 
wanted  to  go  over  to  see  her  grandmother,  who 


lived  in  the  next  house,  nearly  a  quarter  of  a 
mile  away.  The  mother  told  her  there  was  no 
one  to  go  with  her.  She  said  she  could  go 
alone,  and  coaxed  so  hard  that  the  mother  said 
she  might  go.  So  .Cynthia  put  her  little  hat 
on,  and  her  mother  kissed  her  good-by,  and  she 
started.  Then  her  mother  turned  to  me  and 
said  :  ' '  Major,  you  go  with  her  and  take  good 
care  of  my  darling ;  don't  you  let  anything 
hurt  her." 

How  proud  I  was !  I  went  right  by  her 
side  all  the  way,  and  never  left  her  for  one 
moment  until  she  was  safe  at  home. 

Then  the  lady  called  me  a  "good,  faithful 
fellow,"  and  I  was  very  happy.  But  when  the 
men  came  in  at  night  and  she  told  them  what  I 
had  done,  I  felt  ashamed  to  hear  her  say,  "  He 
acted  just  as  though  he  knew  what  I  told  him." 

The  idea!  Why  shouldn't  I  understand,  I 
would  like  to  know  ?  They  talk  about  things 
which  I  do  not  understand,  but  when  they  give 
me  such  a  plain  direction  as  that  I  guess  I  can 
hear  it,  and  know  what  they  mean,  too. 

There  goes  the  whistle,  and  you  must  scam- 
per. Good-by!  G.  R.  A. 


A   CAREFUL   MOTHER. 

A  TRUSTWORTHY  writer  in  one  of  our 
exchanges  says  that  last  summer  near 
his  room  a  humming-bird  built  her  tiny  nest 
and  reared  her  family.  One  day  when  there 
was  a  heavy  shower  coming  up,  just  as  the 
first  drops  fell  the  mother  came  fluttering  home, 
seized  a  large  leaf  which  grew  on  the  tree  near 
her  nest,  drew  it  over  the  nest  in  a  way  to  com- 
pletely cover  it,  then  went  back  to  whatever 
work  she  had  been  about  when  the  coming  storm 
disturbed  her.  The  amused  watchers  from  the 
window  wondered  why  the  leaf  did  not  blow 
away,  and  finally  reached  out  and  examined  it ; 
they  found  it  hooked  to  a  tiny  stick  which  was 
just  inside  the  nest,  as  if  it  had  been  built  in 
for  that  purpose !  The  storm  lasted  but  a  few 
minutes,  and  after  it  was  over  home  came  the 
mother,  unhooked  the  green  curtain  she  had  so 
carefully  put  up,  and  found  her  babies  perfectly 
dry. 


WHICH   WILL   «ET   IT  ? 


CHRISTIAN    ENDEAVOR     SAINTS. 


CHRISTIAN   ENDEAVOR   SAINTS. 

(Something  for  Mamma.') 

OT  something  to  make,  this 
time,  but  to  buy.  It  is  a 
lovely  new  book  bound  in  blue 
and  silver,  and  the  title  is 
"Christian  Endeavor  Saints." 
It  is  written  by  Dr.  F.  E. 
Clark,  the  father  of  all  the  Christian  Endeavor 
societies.  If  your  mamma  is  not  a  member  of 
that  society  it  will  make  no  difference,  she  will 
like  the  book  very  much ;  it  has  a  great  many 
short  bright  articles  in  it,  not  too  long  for  a 
busy  mother  to  read  when  she  sits  down  for 
&  minute  or  two  of  rest. '  The  first  part  of  the 
book  has  short  letters  addressed  to  different 
saints. 

One,  for  instance,  to  "  St.  Neighborly," 
another  to  "  St.  Hopeful,"  another  to  "  St. 
Speakwell,"  and  so  on. 

Then  there  are  many  "  Golden  Rule  Recipes" 
for  the  cure  of  all  sorts  of  troubles,  as  well  as 
what  is  perhaps  better,  for  the  prevention  of 
many. 

Let  me  give  you  one  Avhich  is  called : 

A  RECIPE  FOR  A  HAPPY   DAY. 

"  At  the  very  beginning  of  the  day  take  a  large  amount  of 
good  nature,  and  double  the  quantity  of  determination  to  make 
the  best  of  things,  a  heaping  measure  of  bodily  vigor,  and 
mix  well  in  the  mortar  of  gratitude  with  the  pestle  of  the  re- 
membrance of  past  mercies.  A  season  of  prayer  and  praise  is 
always  necessary  to  the  proper  mixture  of  these  ingredients. 
Then  add  to  this  a  considerable,  but  not  too  large,  portion  of 
•well-regulated  tongue,  a  slice  of  charity  that  thinketh  no  evil 
and  is  not  easily  provoked,  a  portion  of  hopefulness  for  the 
future,  and  a  large  measure  of  faith  in  God  and  fellowmen. 
Season  this  with  the  salt  of  shrewdness  and  thrift,  and  sweeten 
with  plenty  of  the  sugar  of  love  for  all  God's  creatures.  Put 
in  a  large  handful  of  plums  of  parental  or  filial  affection,  and 
a  number  of  pieces  of  neighborly  friendliness;  and  somewhere 
in  the  day  conceal  one  -special  service  for  the  Lord's  poor. 
Slide  this  good  deed  into  the  mixture  quietly,  without  saying 
anything  about  it.  Do  not  use  any  of  the  sour  milk  of  dis- 
appointed hopes,  or  brooding  cares,  for  this  will  spoil  the 
whole;  and  while  there  should  be  a  pinch  of  the  pepper  of 
fun,  and  considerable  sweet  oil  of  joviality,  do  not  use  any  of 
the  mustard  of  backbiting,  or  the  table  sauce  of  slander. 

"  Let  the  mixture  boil  gently,  but  do  not  let  it  boil  over,  for 
the  delicate  flavor  of  the  ingredients  is  injured  by  too  much 
heat. 

"  This  recipe  has  been  tried  in  a  hundred  thousand  house- 
hold*, and  ha«  never  been  known  to  fail." 


There  are  many  more  recipes  quite  as  unique 
and  as  helpful  as  this. 

Then  follows  a  series  of  "Golden  Rule  Ser- 
mons "  on  all  sorts  of  important  topics,  such 
as  "Getting  Muddled  with  the  Unimportant," 
on  "Living  as  we  Sing,"  on  "Poor  Excuses," 
and  the  like.  Finally  there  are  letters  addressed 
to  "Grandmother  Lois,"  "Mrs.  Neataswax," 
"Miss  Youngheart,"  "Mrs.  Vitriol,"  and  a 
host  of  other  people  whom  we  have  met. 

From  one,  addressed  to  ' '  The  Birds  that  can 
Sing,  and  won't  Sing,"  I  want  to  quote  a  little  : 


MY  DEAR  BIRDS: 

"I  watched  you  last  Wednesday  evening  in  the  mid-week 
prayer  meeting,  and  none  of  you  moved  your  lips,  even  when 
we  sang  '  Rock  of  Ages '  and  'Jesus,  Lover  of  my  Soul.'  The 
singing  was  weak  and  languid  and  thin,  when  your  voices 
might  have  put  body  and  life  and  strength  into  it.  I  know 
that  you  can  sing  if  you  have  a  mind  to,  for  do  I  not  hear  you 
every  Sunday  in  the  church  choir?  .  .  .  Did  I  not  hear 
you  sing,  too,  at  Miss  Flora  McFlimser's  birthday  party  the 
other  evening?  Yes,  indeed;  you  gathered  around  the  piano, 
and  the  way  you  warbled  forth  the  glees  and  college  songs  did 
my  heart  good.  But  there  you  were  at  the  church  prayer 
meeting,  members  of  the  church,  members  of  the  Society  of 
Christian  Endeavor;  you  had  promised  more  than  once  to  do 
your  duty  faithfully,  and  yet  you  kept  still,  simply  because 
the  singing  wasn't  very  artistic,  or  because  somebody  behind 
you  'screeched  so,'  as  you  inelegantly  expressed  it,  or  because 
the  old  deacon  on  the  front  seat  dragged,  and  'put  you  all 
out.'  Now,  my  dear  birds,  pardon  the  plain  words  of  an  old 
man,  and  your  pastor  at  that.  The  prayer  meeting  singing  is 
just  as  important  a  part  of  worship,  and  just  as  acceptable  in 
God's  sight,  as  your  choir  or  solo  singing  with  all  its  frills  and 
furbelows.  The  '  screecher '  and  the  old  deacon  are  both  do- 
ing the  best  they  can;  and  if  you  did  the  best  you  could  their 
voices  would  not  be  so  prominent,  and  the  music  would  be  far 
better.  Then,  too,  do  you  not  think  it  indicates  a  little  touch 
of  conceit  to  sing  only  when  your  voices  will  show  off  to  ad- 
vantage, and  let  the  poor  prayer  meeting  suffer  for  lack  of 
them?  I  am  sure,  my  dear  birds,  that  you  never  thought  of 
the  matter  in  that  light,  for  after  all  you  mean  to  be  con- 
scientious as  well  as  tuneful  birds;  and  I  am  quite  confident 
that  when,  next  Wednesday  evening,  I  give  out  'Rock  of 
Ages,'  you  will  'raise  it'  on  your  clear  strong  voices,  and  give 
the  prayer  meeting  such  a  start  and  uplift  as  it  has  not  had 
for  many  a  day." 

I  did  not  mean  to  quote  it  all,  but  it  was  so 
good  I  could  not  find  a  place  to  stop.  I  think 
you  will  enjoy  it,  and  so  will  mamma,  or  your 
older  sister,  or  indeed  any  one  who  loves  to 
read  bright,  pure,  helpful  thoughts. 

The  book  has  about  two  hundred  and  fifty 
pages.  I  really  do  not  know  how  much  it  costs, 
but  your  bookseller  can  easily  find  out  for  you , 

PANSY. 


THE     HARD     TEXT.  — ABOUT     ST.     LOUIS. 


THE   HARD   TEXT. 


ABOUT   ST.    LOUIS. 


(Matt,  xviii.  2.) 

NOW  does  this  mean  that  all  .children  are 
good  Christians,  and  are  surely  in  the 
Kingdom  of  Heaven?  But  you  know  many 
who  are  not  good.  They  are  profane ;  they 
break  the  Sabbath,  and  all  the  other  holy  com- 
mands of  God.  Some  are  so  very  bad  that 
their  parents  send  them  to  reformatories,  which 
are  a  sort  of  prison. 

Some  years  ago  a  boy  by  the  name  of  Jesse 
Pomeroy,  when  he  was  quite  young,  began  to 
torture  children  when  he  could  get  them  into 
his  power.  As  he  grew  a  little  older  and 
stronger  he  would  get  children  away  from  home 
and  lead  them  out  into  some  desolate  place,  and 
bind  them  to  a  tree  and  do  dreadful  things  to 
them. 

It  is  thought  that  this  wicked  boy  caused 
the  death  of  several  children. 

There  are  more  Jesse  Pomeroy s.  Jesus  did 
not  mean  that  all  children  are  perfectly  good. 
Indeed  every  one  —  children,  too  —  must  be 
born  again  —  that  is,  converted  —  to  get  into 
the  Kingdom  of  Heaven. 

What,  then,  did  Jesus  mean  in  this  verse? 
Why,  simply  that  all  must  "humble"  them- 
selves ;  must  repent  and  trust  in  him  to  be 
saved.  Every  true  child  is  ready  to  do  this, 
much  more  so  than  grown-up  folks. 

Grown-up  people  do  not  like  to  confess  that 
they  are  sinners.  They  —  most  of  them  —  re- 
fuse to  humble  themselves,  as  most  very  young- 
folks  do. 

Now  have  you  really  humbled  yourself? 

L. 


'Tis  easy  to  be  gentle  when 

Death's  silence  shames  our  clamor, 
And  easy  to  discern  the  best 

Through  memory's  mystic  glamour; 
But  wise  it  were  for  thee  and  me, 

Ere  love  is  past  forgiving,    ' 
To  take  the  tender  lesson  home  — 

Be  patient  with  the  living. 

—  Selected. 


BY    THE    TANSIES. 

HE  biggest  thing  in  St.  Louis 
is  the  bridge  by  which  you  get 
to  it.  It  has  three  arches,  each 
over  five  hundred  feet  long, 
and  it  makes  a  road  over  fifty 
feet  wide.  My  uncle  says  it  is 
a  big  thing,  and  he  knows,  for  he  is  a  bridge 
builder.  There  is  a  tunnel  under  it,  and  a  rail- 
road track.  I  rode  into  St.  Louis  once  through 
this  tunnel;  it  is  a  mile  long.  It  is  lighted 
with  electricity,  and  they  say  it  has  ventilating 
shafts ;  but  they  don't  give  you  much  air  to 
breathe,  that  I  know.  Father  had  to  fan 
mother  every  minute,  and  we  were  afraid  she 
would  faint.  I  think  I  should  have  found  it 
hard  work  to  breathe  myself,  if  I  hadn't  been 
so  dreadfully  worried  about  mother  that  I  for- 
got all  about  it.  But  for  all  that  it  is  a  splen- 
did thing  —  the  tunnel  is,  I  mean.  The  piers 
of  the  bridge  are  built  on  a  rock,  and  they  go 
down  more  than  a  hundred  feet  below  the  sur- 
face. This  bridge  cost  over  six  millions  of 
dollars.  I  could  tell  you  more  things,  for  I 
staid  in  St.  Louis  a  whole  week,  but  mother 
says  my  letter  is  long  enough. 

WlLLARD    J.    MOONEY. 


ALL  the  Pansies  tell  how  the  city  they  are 
writing  about  got  its  name.  I  cannot  find  out 
about  St.  Louis,  but  I  know  the  first  settlement 
there  was  made  by  Pierre  Laclede  Liguest.  I 
was  wondering  if  they  did  not  put  pieces  of  his 
queer  name  together,  and  make  a  word  which 
in  time  came  to  be  St.  Louis?  Anyhow,  I  am 
glad  they  did  not  name  the  place  for  him,  it 
would  have  been  so  hard  to  pronounce.  That 
is  only  about  a  hundred  and  thirty  years  ago. 
St.  Louis  did  not  grow  very  fast ;  for  a  long 
time  nobody  thought  it  was  going  to  be  a  city, 
and  fifty  years  ago  there  were  only  about  six- 
teen thousand  inhabitants;  but  it  has  grown 
fast  enough  since.  There  are  more  than  five 
hundred  thousand  people,  there  now,  and  large, 
beautiful  buildings,  and  everything  which  helps 
to  make  a  city  handsome.  It  is  hot  there, 


ABOUT     ST.     LOUIS. 


though;  at  least  my  auntie  thinks  so.  She 
used  to  have  to  wait  three  hours  in  a  St.  Louis 
depot  for  a  train  every  time  she  came  home  for 
her  summer  vacation,  and  went  back  in  Sep- 
tember, and  she  says  the  warmest  she  has  ever 
been  in  her  life  was  during  those  hours ;  and 
she  never  in  five  years  struck  a  cool  day !  So 
she  says  she  cannot  help  thinking  that  St.  Louis 
is  always  warm.  But  probably  if  she  had  been 
there  in  January,  instead  of  June  or  September, 
she  would  have  thought  differently.  Women 


not.  There  are  more  than  two  hundred  and 
fifty  acres  just  in  Tower  Grove  Park.  I  have 
never  been  to  Central  Park,  that  some  of  the 
Pansies  told  about,  but  I  do  not  see  how  it 
could  be  prettier  than  Tower  Grove  Park. 
There  is  a  statue  of  Shakespeare,  and  another 
of  Humboldt  in  the  park,  and  they  cost  over  a 
million  of  dollars.  I  don't  see  why ;  I  didn't 
admire  them  very  much ;  but  that  is  what  the 
gentleman  said  who  went  with  us.  There  are 
a  great  many  other  parks  in  St.  Louis  —  about 
twenty,  I  think  —  but  none 
are  so  beautiful  as  this ;  and 
the  Botanical  Gardens  are 
said  to  have  the  finest  collec- 
tion of  plants  of  any  city  in 
the  United  States.  My  brother 
Roger  says  that  cities  always 
say  such  things  about  them- 
selves, and  that  he  doesn't 
suppose  it  is  finer  than  can 
be  found  in  New  York  and 
Chicago,  but  that  is  what 
they  told  us. 

NELLIE  SHERMANN. 


THE  COURT    HOUSE. 


are  apt  to  think  that  things  stay  always  just  as 
they  happened  to  find  them. 

ROBERT  CAMPBELL. 


THE  prettiest  place  to  go  to  in  St.  Louis  is 
"Shaw's  Garden."  It  has  other  names,  "The 
Missouri  Botanical  Gardens,"  and  "  Tower 
Grove  Park,"  which  is  a  piece  of  the  gardens, 
but  when  I  was  there  everybody  said  "Shaw's 
Garden."  The  land  was  presented  by  Mr. 
Henry  Shaw,  an  Englishman,  and  he  used  to 
keep  the  lovely  great  park  in  order  at  his  own 
expense ;  I  don't  know  whether  he  does  now  or 


I  READ  a  description  of  the 
St.  Louis  Court  House  which 
was  very  interesting.     It  is 
built  in  the  form  of  a  Greek 
cross,    and    has   a   splendid 
dome  whose  lantern   can  be 
seen  as  much  as  twenty  miles 
away.     It  cost  a  good  deal 
over  a  million   dollars  —  the 
building  did,  not  the  lantern. 
Aunt  Kate  told  me   to  put  that  sentence  in; 
I   don't  see  why ;  of  course  you  would  kno^\ 
that  a  lantern  did  not  cost  all  that!     I  like 
handsome    buildings;    I   am   going   to   be    an 
architect. 

I  study  all  the  different  forms  of  build- 
ings; I  like  the  Greek  cross  style  very  well, 
but  I  don't  know  how  it  would  look  for  a 
private  house.  Aunt  Kate  says  all  that  has 
nothing  to  do  with  St.  Louis,  but  I  don't  care. 
You  don't  mind  my  telling  what  interests  me, 
do  you? 

ARTHUR  BLAKEMAN 


ABOUT     ST.     LOUIS. 


THERE  is  a  building  in  St.  Louis  called  "Four 
Courts,"  named  after  the  "Four  Courts"  of 
Dublin.  But  I  think  it  was  queer  to  name  it 
Four  Courts,  and  then  have  only  three  courts 
held  in  it.  It  is  a  stone 
building,  and  cost  a  good 
deal  of  money.  Stone 
buildings  always  do ;  I 
suppose  that  is  because 
they  last  so  long;  things 
that  last  always  cost  a 
great  deal.  I  have  hun- 
ted and  hunted  to  find 
something  interesting 
about  St.  Louis  that  every- 
body else  would  not  be 
likely  to  tell,  and  the  only 
thing  I  could  find  was  this 
about  the  Four  Courts.  I 
don't  know  as  that  is  in- 
teresting, but  it  is  the  best 
I  could  do. 

MARY  BLAKEMAN. 


THEY  have  a  splendid  Custom  House  and 
Post-Office  in  St.  Louis.  Father  says  the 
building  cost  half  a  million.  He  was  there 
when  it  was  being  built,  and  he  says  there  is 


THEY  have    a  splendid 
Public- school   Library   in 
St.  Louis.     My  father  said  when  he  was  there 
ten  years  ago  there  were  over  fifty  thousand 
volumes  in   it  —  books  to  help    teachers    and 
scholars.     My  father  says  he  thinks  other  cities 


THE    DENISON     HOUSE. 


THE     CUSTOM    HOUSE. 

something  grand-looking  about  it.  And  father 
says  they  have  splendid  schools  there ;  not  only 
public  schools,  but  lots  of  private  ones.  The 
Washington  University  is  there,  and  so,  of 
course,  is  the  St.  Louis  University ; 
and  they  have  the  finest  kindergartens 
%___  there,  I  think,  to  be  found  outside 

of  Germany.  My  uncle  says  I  might 
as  well  leave  that  sentence  out,  for 
the  kindergartens  in  the  United  States 
are  better  than  those  in  Germany. 
But  I  am  not  going  to  leave  it  out ; 
I  don't  like  crossed-out  lines  in  a  let- 
ter, and  I  haven't  time  to  copy  this. 
Besides,  lots  of  people  think  that 
things  in  other  countries  are  nicer 
than  our  own,  of  course. 

CHARLES  J.  PRESCOTT,  Jr. 


might  copy  after  them  in  this.  Colleges  have 
libraries  on  purpose  for  their  students,  why 
should  not  public  schools? 

WILL  VANDENBERG. 


RITA  was  riding  on  a  road  that  went  wind- 
ing up  hill  and  down  dale,  when  she  remarked, 
"  Well,  I  never  did  saw  such  a  curly  road." 


A     SEED     THAT    BLOSSOMED. 


A   SEED   THAT  BLOSSOMED. 


LISE  was  spending  the  after- 
noon with  Miss  Dora  Turner. 
Miss  Turner  was  several  years 
older  than  Elise,  but  she  had 
come  to  the  country  to  live 
among  strangers,  and  Elise 
had  known  her  in  her  city  home,  and  was  lonely 
like  herself,  so  they  became  intimate  friends. 
Elise  told  all  her  sorrows  and  perplexities,  as 
well  as  her  joys,  to  this  young  lady.  She  was 
in  Miss  Turner's  room  now,  waiting  for  her  to 
rearrange  her  hair  and  make  some  additions  to 
her 'toilet,  then  they  were  going  for  a  walk. 

"  I  don't  know  where  we  can  go,  I  am  sure," 
said  Elise;  "we  have  used  up  all  the  pretty 
walks  near  by.  I  wish  it  was  early  enough  to 
go  for  a  long  tramp ;  I  would  like  to  do  some- 
thing different  this  afternoon.  I  feel  tired  of 
all  the  things  I  ever  did." 

"Poor  little  old  lady!"  said  Miss  Turner, 
laughing,  ' '  there  will  have  to  be  a  new  world 
made  for  you,  Elise."  Then,  as  she  turned, 
she  caught  the  flash  of  the  diamond  at  Elise's 
throat,  and  said:  "How  lovely  your  pin  is! 
It  seems  too  lovely  and  too  costly  for  a  young 
girl." 

"It  was  mamma's,"  said  Elise  gravely,  "and 
papa  promised  mamma  he  would  give  it  to  me 
on  my  fourteenth  birthday.  Didn't  I  tell  you  ?  " 
"Why,  no,  indeed.  That  explains  it.  I 
wondered  that  your  father  should  send  you  a 
diamond  pin  at  your  age;  but  it  is  beautiful 
for  you  to  have  your  mother's  pin  to  wear. 
Why  didn't  you  tell  me,  Elise?" 

"  Because,"  said  Elise,  "  there  was  a  part  to 
it  that  I  did  not  understand,  and  I  suppose  I 
did  not  want  to  speak  of  it.  Mamma  sent  me 
a  message  with  it ;  at  least  papa  said  that  the 
words  inside  were  her  message ;  she  had  them 
engraved  on  it  before  she  died,  so  it  seems  like 
mamma's  last  words  to  me,  and  indeed  it  is; 
but  I  do  not  understand  it,  nor  know  how  to  do 
it%  nor  anything.  I  don't  suppose  you  could 
show  me  ?  " 

The  question  was  asked  with  a  half-laugh, 
and  not  at  all  as  though  Elise  supposed  that 
she  could  get  any  help  from  this  quarter. 


Miss  Turner's  fair  face  flushed.  "I  don't 
suppose  I  could,"  she  answered  gravely;  "I 
don't  know  much  about  such  things,  Elise." 

What  she  meant  by  ' '  such  things  "  perhaps 
would  have  been  difficult  for  her  to  explain. 
But  the  thought  in  her  mind  was,  that  "last 
messages"  from  dying  mothers  would  not  be 
such  as  she  could  explain.  Elise's  mother  had 
been  dead  for  many  years ;  at  least  they  seemed 
many  to  Elise,  though  she  could  remember  her 
beautiful  mother  distinctly;  and  when  she 
thought  it  all  over,  as  she  often  did  in  the  twi- 
light, could  seem  to  feel  her  mother's  kiss  upon 
her  lips,  and  the  pressure  of  her  mother's  hand 
on  the  yellow  curls  which  used  to  be  hers  in 
those  days.  She  was  not  yet  six  years  old 
when  her  mother  went  away,  but  there  were 
times  when  it  seemed  to  her  that  she  had  seen 
her  only  yesterday.  And  at  other  times  the 
years  which  stretched  between  seemed  very, 
very  long.  Her  father  was  in  India  in  the 
Government  employ;  had  been  there  for  five 
years.  And  Elise,  who  received  long  letters 
from  him,  and  elegant  presents,  and  talked  a 
great  deal  about  him,  yet  felt  sometimes  that 
she  really  knew  him  less  than  she  did  her  beau- 
tiful pale  mother,  who  used  to  love  her  so,  and 
kiss  her  so  tenderly.  Elise  lived  with  an  aunt 
who  was  very  fond  of  her,  and  did  everything 
to  supply  her  mother's  place,  and  her  uncle 
called  her  his  adopted  daughter ;  yet  sometimes 
she  cried  when  she  was  tucked  up  in  bed  for 
the  night,  because  she  longed  so  to  have  a 
mamma  and  papa  and  a  home  of  her  own, 
like  other  girls.  It  was  perhaps  because  Miss 
Turner  had  no  mother  that  she  had  felt  drawn 
toward  her  in  the  first  place. 

"What  is  the  message?"  her  friend  asked. 
"May  I  see  it,  Elise?  I  am  half-surprised 
that  you  do  not  understand  it ;  you  are  such  a 
thoughtful  young  person,  and  seem  older  than 
you  are ;  I  have  a  feeling  that  you  can  under- 
stand what  most  others  do." 

Elise  made  no  reply  save  to  unclasp  the  pin 
and  pass  it  to  her  friend.  Miss  Turner  moved 
toward  the  window,  where  the  light  would  fall 
upon  it.  It  was  a  lovely  arch  of  gold^  a  tiny 
diamond  flashing  in  its  center,  and  on  the  re- 
verse side  was  engraved,  in  small  but  distinct 


A     SEED     THAT     BLOSSOMED. 


letters,  the  words:  "Keep  His  covenant." 
"  Why,  Elise !  "  she  said,  "  how  beautiful  this 
is.  I  should  think  you  would  like  it  very  much." 

"I  do,"  said  Elise,  "of  course;  only  it  gives 
me  a  strange  feeling,  as  though  mamma  had 
sent  me  word  to  do  something  that  I  could  not 
do;  and  I  have  always  thought  that  I  would 
like  to  do  things  to  please  mamma,  if  I  only 
knew  just  what  she  wanted  done."  . 

"Well,  but,  dear,"  said  Miss  Turner  hesi- 
tatingly, ' '  surely  you  can  find  out  what  this 
means,  in  a  general  way." 

Elise  smiled  sadly.  "I  remember  mamma 
very  well,"  she  said,  "  and  she  always  wanted 
me  to  do  exactly. as  she  said." 

"Well,"  said  Miss  Turner  again,  after  an 
embarrassed  pause,  "this  is  exact  enough;  she 
means  you  to  live  a  good  life,  you  know." 

"I  don't  know  what  it  means,"  said  Elise, 
moving  restlessly.  "As  for  being  good,  I  am 
not,  and  I  don't  know  how  to  be ;  I  cannot 
keep  my  temper  a  single  day.  You  know  I 
never  get  through  a  day  without  having  a  tiff 
of  some  sort  with  Cousin  Annie ;  and  there  are 
ever  so  many  people  who  vex  me  and  worry  me 
so  that  I  cannot  feel  right  toward  them.  That 
is  not  being  good.  Besides,  the  words  seem  to 
me  to  mean  something  more  than  that  —  some- 
thing different.  I  would  like  to  know  exactly 
what  they  mean,  but  there  is  nobody  that  I  can 
ask.  Papa  does  not  understand  such  things, 
and  uncle  and  auntie  do  not.  I  don't  seem  to 
haVe  any  friends  who  could  help  in  that  way." 

Miss  Turner  gave  back  the  pin,  looking  very 
thoughtful  indeed.  She  ought  to  know  more 
about  those  things  than  Elise  did,  she  told  her- 
self ;  her  father  was  not  a  Christian,  and  her 
mother  had  died  when  her  little  girl  was  six 
years  old,  whereas  Miss  Turner  had  lived 
always  in  a  home  where  the  father  and  mother 
were  earnest  Christians,  and  she  knew  at  this 
very  moment  that  the  greatest  desire  of  their 
hearts  was  to  see  her  doing  this  very  thing  — 
"keeping  His  covenant."  Yet  she  knew  as 
little  about  it  practically  as  Elise  Burton  did ; 
so  little,  that  although  she  was  at  least  six 
years  older  than  Elise,  she  did  not  know  in 
the  least  how  to  help  her  this  afternoon.  It 
was  very  humiliating.  She  could  help  her  with 


her  music,  and  with  her  French  lessons,  and 
her  drawing,  and  to  have  this  most  important 
of  all  lessons  beyond  her,  seemed  strange  and 
wrong.  She  was  still  for  several  minutes,  then 
she  said,  speaking  very  gently : 

"Elise  dear,  I  can  imagine  how  you  feel 
with  this  message  from  your  mother ;  I  wish  I 
knew  how  to  help  you.  But  there  is  a  way  to 
learn  what  it  means.  There  is  a  verse  in  the 
Bible  somewhere  that  explains  its  meaning." 

Elise  looked  up  quickly.  "Where?"  she 
asked.  "The  Bible  is  such  a  big  book,  and  I 
do  not  know  much  about  it.  I  did  try  last 
Sunday  to  find  something  about  covenants  that 
would  help  me.  I  went  away  back  to  Noah 
and  the  rainbow,  but  I  did  not  get  any  good 
out  of  it  for  me." 

Miss  Dora  went  to  her  table  and  took  up  an 
elegantly  bound  reference  Bible,  full  of  help 
which  she  did  not  understand,  and  turning  in  a 
half-bewildered,  half-embarrassed  manner  to- 
the  Concordance,  ran  her  eye  down  the  list  of 
words  marked  "covenant."  Elise  watched  her 
curiously.  She  had  no  Concordance  in  her 
Bible,  and  did  not  know  how  to  use  one.  At 
last  Miss  Dora  turned  to  a  verse. 

"This  explains  a  little  of  it,"  she  said,  and 
read  aloud :  ' '  This  shall  be  the  covenant  that 
I  will  make  with  the  house  of  Israel  in  those 
days,  saith  the  Lord ;  I  will  put  my  law  in  their 
inward  parts,  and  write  it  in  their  hearts,  and 
will  be  their  God  and  they  shall  be  my  people." 
As  she  read  a  curious  light  came  into  her  eyes. 

"  It  is  very  strange,"  she  said ;  "  that  is  the 
verse  that  they  are  going  to  talk  about  this 
afternoon  at  the  covenant  meeting." 

"  What  is  a  covenant  meeting?  "  asked  Elise 
eagerly. 

"It  is  the  young  people's  quarterly  meeting 
at  the  church  where  I  am  attending.  Every 
three  months  their  Christian  Endeavor  Society 
have  a  gathering  which  they  call  a  covenant 
meeting.  I  don't  know  much  about  it ;  I  have 
not  been;  but  they  talk  together  about  such 
things ;  the  pastor  comes  and  talks  to  them. 
They  say  the  meetings  are  interesting.  What 
if  we  should  walk  in  that  direction,  Elise,  and 
go  in  a  little  while  ?  Mr.  Westfield  invited  me 
to  come,  but  I  did  not  have  an  idea  that  I 


WHEN  GRANDFATHER  WAS  YOUNG. 


should  do  so.  I  do  not  attend  such  meetings 
much,  you  know.  But  if  you  would  like  to  go, 
Elise,  and  find  out  about  your  pin,  I  will  go 
with  you." 

"Well,"  said  Elise,  starting  up  with  more 
energy  than  she  had  shown  before  for  several 
days,  "I  will.  I  want  to  know  about  'His 
covenant.'  I  do,  truly.  Mamma  asked  me  to, 
you  know ;  and  perhaps  if  I  understood  it  it 


would  tell  me  just  exactly  what  she  wanted  me 
to  do  all  the  time,  and  I  should  be  so  glad  to 
do  it." 

"We  will  go  and  find  out,"  said  Miss  Turner 
gravely. 

Thus  the  little  seed  dropped  by  the  loving 
mother's  hand  took  root  and  blossomed  in  two 
lives,  though  the  hand  which  sowed  the  seed 
had  been  dust  for  many  years.  PANSY. 


WHEN    GKANDFATHKR   WAS    YOUNG. 


THE     OLD     QUESTION. 


TIIK    OLI>    QUB8TIOX. 


A     SCARECROW. 


A    SCARECROW. 

LEX  HAINES  and  Eva  were 
promised  a  piece  of  ground  as 
their  very  own  if  they  would 
cultivate  (what  is  that?)  it. 

Each  took  a  hoe  and  began. 
By  night   Alex  and  Eva   had 
planted  a  rod  square  to  corn.  • 

Then  they  watched  the  corn;  that  is,  they 
watched  for  the  corn.  After  a  few  days,  sure 
enough,  the  spots  where  the  corn  was  planted 
—  that  is,  the  hills  —  began  to  swell  as  though 
something  wanted  to  get  out.  Then  up  came 
a  bit  of  a  green  leaf.  Higher  it  grew,  and  they 
came  often  to  see  it. 

One  day  they  came  and  found  some  of  the 
hills  pulled  up,   and  while  they  won- 
dered what  thief  had  been  about,  they 
heard  from  the  top  of  a  tree,  "  Caw, 
caw,  caw!  " 

The  thief  was  a  crow. 
So  they  must  scare  the  crows 
away,    or   the    corn  will  be  all 
pulled  up,  and  their  labor  will 
be  in  vain. 

Crows  are  afraid  of  men ; 
but  men  cannot  stay  all  the 
time  in  the  field  to  scare 
the  crows    off.     So   some- 
thing  that   looks   like  a    man 
must  be  set  up  in  the  corn  patch 
to  scare  the  crows  away. 

With  a  pair  of  pants,  a  coat, 
a  hat,  and  three  old  brooms, 
they  are  making  a  man  !  When 
it  is  all  done  it  will  not  look  -2< 

<^(W 

much  like  a  man.     It  has  neithei1  eyes, 
nose  nor  mouth.     It  can    not  walk  nor' 
talk.    The  scarecrow  has  no  heart  or  soul, 
but   it   can  scare  crows  away  from   the 
corn. 

The  gods  of  the  heathen  have  eyes,  but  they 
can't  see.  They  can't  see  or  hear  or  feel  or 
think. 

They  are  made  gods,  and  those  who  make 
such  gods  worship  them.  They  think  such 
things  can  scare  away  evil  and  do  them 
good ! 


But  such  gods  just  scare  the  heathen,  and  of 
course  cannot  save  them. 

Ah !  if  the  poor,  deceived  people  knew  of 
Him  "  who  so  loved  the  world  that  He  gave  his 
only  begotten  Son,  that  whosoever  believeth  in 
Him  should  not  perish,  but  have  everlasting  life." 

What  Pansy  among  you  will  go  and  tell 
them,  or  help  send  a  preacher  to  them?  L. 


BUILDING    THE    SCAKKCKOW. 


THERE  is  a  grand  temperance  organization  in 
Sweden,  which  is  trying  to  get  rid  of  the  saloon. 
Last  year  their  Government  appropriated  twenty- 
five  thousand  crowns,  a  portion  of  which  was  set 
apart  to  be  used  as  awards  for  the  best  essays  on 
the  different  phases  of  the  temperance  question, 
with  suggestions  as  to  how  soonest  to  rid  the 
country  of  the  curse  of  alcohol. 


GREAT     GRANDMOTHER'S     SAMPLER. 


GREAT-GRANDMOTHER'S  SAMPLER. 


A     DOUBLE     LESSON. 


A   DOUBLE   LESSON. 


HERE ! "  said  Davie  Campbell, 
flinging   as  he  spoke  a  large, 
sharp-pointed  stick  right  where 
his  brother  stood,  ' '  take  that ; 
I  don't  care  if  it  does  hurt  you. 
I  hate  you,  George  Campbell !  " 
The  stick  was  aimed  even  more  surely  than 
Davie  in  his  blind  rage  imagined.     It  struck 
his  brother's  side  face,  making  an  ugly  wound, 
from  which  the  blood  flowed  freely. 

"  Ah,  ha !  "  said  George,  as  he  turned  to  the 
pump  and  began  to  bathe  the  wound,  ' '  look 
what  you  have  done  now.  What  will  mother 


SHE  HELD  UP  A  WAHNISG  HAND. 

say  to  you,  young  man?  And  as  for  me,  that 
will  make  a  scar,  and  I  will  wear  it  all  my  life 
to  remember  you  by.  You  will  like  that,  won't 
you?  You  will  just  enjoy  having  people  ask 
me  where  I  got  that  scar,  and  me  having  to  tell 
that  my  beloved  brother  did  it  on  purpose,  be- 
cause he  hated  me.  Oh,  ho !  you  are  a  jewel, 


you  are,"  and  George  Campbell  laughed,  and 
dodged  just  in  time  to  escape  a  stone  from  his 
angry  brother's  hand ;  then  went  off  down  the 
street,  leaving  Davie  in  a  perfect  rage. 

He  was  three  years  younger  than  his  brother, 
and  was  said  by  the  neighbors  to  have  a  great 
deal  worse  disposition  than  George,  but  I  never 
felt  sure  of  that.  However,  it  is  quite  true 
that  instead  of  being  master  of  his  temper  he 
let  it  master  him.  He  had,  also,  a  ^retched 
habit  of  throwing  anything  he  might  happen  to 
have  in  his  hand  when  the  angry  fit  seized  him, 
letting  it  strike  wherever  it  might.  In  this  way 
he  had  narrowly  escaped  doing  serious  mis- 
chief, and  he  had  promised  himself  hundreds  of 
times  that  he  would  never,  never  throw 
things  again,  and  yet,  as  soon  as  he  grew 
angry,  so  settled  was  that  habit  upon  him, 
that  the  stick  or  stone  was  apt  to  fly  through 
the  air.  As  for  George,  I  think  he  was 
quite  as  easily  angered  as  his  brother,  but 
his  habit  was  to  laugh,  or  sneer,  or  say 
the  most  taunting  words  imaginable,  with  a 
sort  of  superior  smile  on  his  face  the  while. 
On  the  whole,  I  am  not  sure  that  George 
appeared  any  better  in  the  sight  of  Him 
who  can  read  hearts  than  did  his  brother 
Davie. 

They  were  not  the  worst  boys  in  the 
world,  by  any  means ;  they  did  not  quarrel 
all  the  time.  For  days  together  they  would 
succeed  in  being  very  friendly,  and  in  hav- 
ing good  times,  but  it  must  be  confessed 
that  George  had  discovered  certain  direc- 
tions in  which  his  young  brother  could  be 
easily  teased,  and  that  he  delighted  to  tease 
him. 

"  Davie  is  such  a  little  spitfire,"  he  used 
to  say  to  his  Aunt  Mary,  when  she  argued 
with  him  about  the  sin  of  such  a  habit. 
4 '  Why  does  he  want  to  go  off  like  a  pop 
gun  the  first  word  that  is  said  to  him? 
I  never  do." 

"No,"  said  Aunt  Mary;  "you  laugh — a 
laugh  which  makes  him  feel  more  angry  than 
he  did  before,  and  you  say  something  to  in- 
crease his  rage.  Is  that  really  being  any  better 
than  he  ?"  But  these  questions  George  did  not 
like  to  answer. 


A    DOUBLE    LESSON. 


On  this  particular  morning,  after  having 
stopped  the  blood  from  his  wound,  he  had 
sauntered  away  to  see  two  of  his  friends  who 
worked  in  the  paper  factory  near  at  hand. 
There  he  mounted  their  work  table  and  an- 
swered the  questions  which  they  eagerly  put  to 
him  as  to  how  he  happened  to  get  hurt. 

"Oh!  it  is  Davie's  work;  he's  a  great  boy. 
If  he  had  had  an  open  jack-knife  in  his  hand  it 
would  have  been  all  the  same ;  it  would  have 
been  flung  at  me  when  he  got  mad.  I  hope 
•when  he  grows  up  he  will  never  take  a  notion 
to  carry  a  pistol,  for  if  he  does  he  will  shoot 
the  first  fellow  who  laughs  at  him,  or  who 
laughs  when  he  is  within  hearing." 

"Why,  George,"  said  one  of  the  boys,  "that 
will  make  an  ugly  scar." 

"I  dare  say  it  will.  I  will  carry  it  all  my 
life  to  remember  him  by." 

"  It  is  a  pity  that  he  is  such  a  little  tiger ;  I 
wouldn't  stand  it  if  I  were  you,"  said  the  other 
boy.  "You  are  a  good  deal  older  than  he; 
why  don't  you  make  him  behave  himself  ?  " 

In  this  way  poor  Davie  was  discussed  by  the 
three,  George  telling  story  after  story  about 
his  brother,  led  on  by  the  sympathy  which  the 
two  professed,  into  making  Davie  the  one  al- 
ways to  blame,  and  himself  the  injured,  long- 
suffering  elder  brother.  The  boys  did  not  know 
Davie  very  well,  and  George  had  always  been 
good-natured  with  them,  so  of  course  they  were 
on  his  side,  and  ready  to  sympathize  with  him 
for  having  such  a  wicked  little  brother.  The 
longer  George  talked  the  more  of  a  martyr  he 
grew  to  considering  himself ;  he  racked  his 
brain  for  illustrations  of  Davie's  ill  temper, 
and  was  in  the  midst  of  a  very  harrowing  story 
when  Joe  Winters  appeared,  breathless  with 
running,  and  panted  out:  "Is  George  Camp- 
bell here?  I  say,  George  Campbell,  your  folks 
want  you  to  come  home  just  as  fast  as  you  can. 
Davie  has  tumbled  from  the  scaffolding  of  the 
big  barn  and  killed  himself !  or — well,  he  ain't 
dead;  but  he  lies  there  still;  can't  stir  nor 
speak,  and  they  have  sent  for  two  doctors,  and 
everybody  thinks  he  is  going  to  die." 

Poor  George  Campbell !  To  have  seen  the 
look  on  his  face  when  he  heard  this  dreadful 
piece  of  news  you  would  not  have  imagined 


that  he  could  have  had  so  hard  an  opinion  of 
his  little  brother  as  he  had  been  trying  to  show 
for  the  last  hour.  He  jumped  from  the  table, 
and  made  a  dash  for  the  door  before  Joe  had 
finished  his  panting  sentences,  but  paused  with 
the  door  in  his  hand  to  say  :  "  O,  boys !  it  isn't 
half  of  it  true — what  I  have  been  telling  you; 
I  have  been  worse  than  Davie  every  time.  If 
I  hadn't  laughed  at  him,  and  teased  him,  and 
made  fun  of  him,  he  never  would  have  got 
angry  at  me.  O,  boys!  if  he  dies  it  will  kill 
me."  Then  he  ran. 

What  hours  those  were  which  followed,  while 
the  little  brother  lay  on  his  bed,  moaning  steadily, 
but  unconscious,  so  the  doctors  declared,  and 
they  shook  their  heads  gravely  in  answer  to 
questions,  and  would  not  give  one  ray  of  hope 
that  he  might  by  and  by  open  his  eyes  and 
know  them.  Truth  to  tell,  they  thought  he 
was  going  to  die,  and  that  very  soon.  But 
doctors  are  sometimes  mistaken,  and  these 
were.  Davie  did  not  die ;  he  lay  day  after 
day  moaning  with  pain,  not  knowing  any  of 
the  dear  friends  who  bent  over  him ;  staring  at 
George  with  wild,  unnatural  eyes,  as  if  he  were 
some  comical  object,  instead  of  the  brother 
who  hovered  about  him,  longing,  oh !  so  eagerly 
for  just  one  glance  of  recognition. 

There  came  a  day  when  the  doctors  said  it 
was  possible — just  barely  possible  —  that  Davie 
might  awaken  from  the  long  sleep  into  which  he 
had  fallen,  and  know  his  friends.  How  still 
they  kept  the  house,  and  how  silently  the 
mother  sat  hour  after  hour  by  his  bedside,  re- 
lieved only  by  the  little  sister,  who  came  on 
tiptoe  to  take  her  place,  that  she  might  go  out 
and  drink  a  cup  of  tea  to  help  her  bear  the  nerv- 
ous strain.  Even  then  she  only  went  into  the 
next  room,  separated  from  Davie's  by  a  cur- 
tain, and  came  back  when  she  had  got  half-way 
across  the  room  because  she  thought  she  heard 
a  sound  behind  those  curtains.  There  was  no 
sound ;  Jennie  was  sitting  quietly  at  her  post, 
a  wise  little  nurse  ;  she  held  up  a  warning  hand, 
ready  to  motion  anybody  back  into  silence  who 
might  be  tiptoeing  toward  them.  She  had  im- 
agined it  was  George,  for  he,  poor  fellow,  hov- 
ered near,  looking  almost  as  pale  and  worn  as 
the  boy  with  his  head  on  the  pillow. 


A    DOUBLE    LESSON. 


Terrible  days  these  had  been  to  George.  He 
was  not  sure  that  he  ever  prayed  in  his  life  be- 
fore, but  during  those  days  he  prayed  with  ter- 
rible earnestness,  that  Davie  might  not  go  away 
with  those  last  words  of  his  ringing  in  his  ears. 
"If  he  could  only  know  me  long  enough  for  me 
to  ask  him  to  forgive  me !  "  said  poor  George 
to  himself,  while  the  tears  rolled  down  his 
cheeks.  "Then  I  think  I  would  be  almost 
willing  to  have  him  die.  O,  God !  let  me  just 
tell  him  that  I  am  sorry,  and  that  I  will  not 
remember  him  in  any  such  way,  but  I  will  think 


were  quite  as  full  of  anxiety  and  care  as  those 
in  which  he  had  been  unconscious. 

But  Davie  steadily  gained,  and  there  came  a 
bright  morning  in  midsummer  when  George  was 
permitted  to  take  care  of  him  alone,  while  his 
mother  attended  to  some  household  duties,  and 
Jennie  swept  the  dining-room  and  set  the  table. 
It  was  George's  opportunity.  He  had  longed 
for  it,  but  he  did  not  know  how  to  use  it.  How 
should  he  begin?  While  he  considered,  Davie 
began  for  him. 

"It   did   leave  a  scar,  didn't   it?"  he  said 


AT   PONT   JSEUF. 


of  the  thousands  of  good  and  loving  things  he 
has  done  for  me.'^. 

I  am  sure  you  will  be  glad  to  know  that  his 
prayer  was  answered.  Davie  awoke  from  his 
long  sleep  with  a  look  of  quiet  astonishment  in 
his  eyes,  to  think  that  he  was  lying  in  bed,  and 
mother  and  Jennie  were  sitting  beside  him,  and 
that  George  was  standing  over  by  the  window. 
He  did  not  remember  any  of  the  days  that  had 
passed  between.  He  did  not  remember  at  first 
the  fall  from  the  scaffolding.  He  was  by  no 
means  out  of  danger,  the  doctor  said,  yet  there 
was  a  thread,  just  a  thread  of  hope  that  he 
might  rally.  And  so  the  days  which  followed 


mournfully.  "  O,  George!  I  remember  all 
about  it ;  it  came  to  me  just  a  few  days  ago. 
"Wasn't  it  awful?  George,  the  hardest  part  has 
been  to  think  that  maybe  I  should  die  and  leave 
that  scar  for  you  to  remember  me  by." 

"Don't,"  said  George,  who  had  not  the  least 
idea  that  he  should  cry  any  more  about  this 
thing,  yet  who  felt  the  tears  starting  in  his 
eyes.  "  O,  don't,  Davie!  forget  those  horrid 
hateful  things  I  said  to  you.  You  can't  think 
how  many  nice  things  I  had  to  remember  of 
you  —  hundreds  and  hundreds  of  them." 

"No,"  said  Davie  mournfully;  "I  have  al- 
ways been  throwing  sticks  and  stones  and  hurt- 


MUSIC    AND    WAR. 


ing  things.  Don't  you  remember  how  I  lamed 
the  cat,  and  killed  a  bird  once,  and  then  made 
that  scar  on  your  face  ?  That  is  the  worst  of 
all.  O,  George !  if  I  had  died  what  a  way  to 
be  remembered.  Think  of  the  lots  of  things 
that  people  could  have  told  of  me  like  that." 

George  winced  visibly,  for  these  were  some 
of  the  things  he  had  told  the  boys  in  the  paper 
factory  that  day. 

"I  tell  you  what  it  is,"  he  said,  swallowing 
hard  to  try  and  speak  without  a  tremble  in  his 
voice,  "you  and  I  have  both  had  a  lesson, 
Davie.  If  you  had  died  I  could  never  have 
forgiven  myself  for  having  teased  you  for  get- 
ting angry,  and  then  having  said  that  I  would 
remember  you  by  this  little  scar,  which  doesn't 
amount  to  anything,  anyhow.  It  wasn't  true, 
Davie;  I  wouldn't  have 
remembered  you  that  way." 

"I  don't  see  how  you 
could  have  helped  it,"  said 
Davie  mournfully;  "but  I 
am  truly  and  surely  going 
to  be  different  after  this. 
If  you  see  me  getting  angry 
and  acting  as  if  I  was 
going  to  throw  things,  I 
wish  you  would  tie  up  my 
hands,  or  hold  them,  or 
something." 

"  We  will  both  be  differ- 
ent," said  George.  "It 
won't  do  to  plan  such  things 
as  we  had  to  remember. 
We  will  begin  now  and  plan  to  have  nice 
pleasant  things,  so  that  when  —  that  when"  — 
But  his  voice  trembled  and  broke ;  he  had  been 
too  near  parting  with  Davie  forever  to  put  in 
words  the  thought  that  some  time  the  parting 
would  surely  come. 

But  I  fancy  that  they  must  have  kept  their 
words  and  begun  over  again,  for  this  happened 
several  years  ago.  George  and  Davie  are 
young  men  now,  and  yesterday  I  heard  them 
called  "model  brothers."  They  really  se*em  to 
be  planning  to  have  only  pleasant  things  to  re- 
member of  each  other  when  the  time  comes  for 
one  of  them  to  go  away. 

PANSY. 


MUSIC   AND   WAR. 

EORGE  NO  YES  —  that  is  not 
his  real  name  —  is  now  in  Eu- 
rope sightseeing.  He  spends 
one  week  in  beautiful  Paris, 
where  the  people  talk  French, 
and  do  not  do  everything  quite 
as  do  Americans  or  Englishmen. 

George  is  learning  to  speak  French.  He  has 
got  on  so  far  that  he  can  tell  in  French  to  the 
waiters  just  what  he  will  have  of  the  bill  of  fare. 
Yesterday  he  and  his  Uncle  Fred  went  to 
Pont  Neuf,  a  bridge  more  than  a  thousand 
feet  long,  and  three  hundred  years  old.  King 
Henry  the  Fourth  had  it  built.  Visitors  of 
Paris  must  needs  see  this  wonderful  bridge,  or 


ON   DRILL. 


they  have  not  seen  Paris.     That's  what  they 
say. 

While  George  was  looking  this  way  and  that 
from  the  bridge,  and  thinking  of  the  war  times 
of  kings  and  princes,  he  heard  sweet  music, 
and  turning  to  see  whence  it  came,  he  saw  a 
company  of  boys  playing  on  drums  and  bugles, 
under  the  leadership  of  a  soldier  and  one  of 
their  own  companions. 

There  they  drill  every  pleasant  afternoon, 
and  delight  the  multitudes  who  gather  on  Pont 
Neuf. 

However,  it  is  not  all  for  fun  they  are  play- 
ing charming  French  music,  and  among  the 
rest  the  Marseillaise  Hymn.  They  are  getting 


JEAN. 


ready    for   war   times,   for   fierce   battles   and 
blood  and  death. 

Most  nations  have  had  many  wars,  and  mil- 
hons  of  their  people  have  been  slain,  and  no 
words  can  tell  the  suffering.  Some  day  I  fear 
those  nice  French  boys,  grown  to  be  men,  will 
be  playing  the  Marseillaise  Hymn  on  some 
awful  battle  field,  while  thousands  of  French 
and  Germans,  or  some  other  people,  will  be 
falling  and  dying ! 

All  this  because  one  nation  wants  some  of 
the  other  nation's  land,  or  for  some  other 
wicked  cause. 

"Blessed  are  the  peace  makers,  for"  — 

L. 


JEAN. 

OME  now,  the  good  ship  City 
of  Paris  sails  in  a  few  days, 
so  let  us  away  over  the  ocean 
to  France. 

Here  we  are  in  Paris,  the 
most  beautiful,  though  not  the 
best  city  in  the  world,  they  say. 

But  after  six  days  sightseeing  we'll  hurry  to 
another  place,  and  here  we  are  in  Domremy. 
Here  we'll  roam  over  the  hills  and  think.  See 
that  cluster  of  trees  ?  We  must  sit  under  them 
and  upon  that  very  stone.  There  on  that 
grassy  bank  where  the  flowers  are  blooming, 
and  at  whose  foot  runs  a  gentle  brook,  we  must 
spend  an  hour  and  think,  think  who  sat  upon 
that  very  spot  nearly  five  hundred  years  ago 
and  watched  her  father's  flock  of  sheep  or  lis- 
tened to  the  singing  birds  or  talked  with  God 
through  the  sweet  roses  she  holds.  Now  she 
looks  up  at  the  great  sun,  now  at  a  passing 
cloud ;  now  a  soft  wind  fans  her  face  ;  a  shep- 
herd dog  lies  at  her  feet;  just  yonder  some 
lambs  are  nestled  together. 

She  is  but  thirteen  years  old,  but  she  loves 
to  speak  to  God  as  though  he  were  by  her  side 
—  and  is  he  not? 

Late  one  evening  she  comes  leading  the  sheep 
home.  Sitting  alone  looking  out  into  the  moon- 
light, Jeanne's  mother  inquires:  "My  child, 
what  keeps  you  so  long  in  the  field  ?  You  must 


come  home  earlier,  my  darling,  or  something 
will  happen  to  you." 

"  But,  mamma,  I've  heard  voices  in  the 
fields,  and  they  seem  to  come  from  the  roses 
and  the  rocks  and  the  robins  and  in  every 
wind,  and  they  tell  me  of  my  native  land  and 
my  home  and  God,  that  I  must  love  ma  belle 
France,  and  save  it  out  of  the  hands  of  all  its 
enemies,  and  this  is  what  keeps  me  so  late,  my 
sweet,  dear  mamma." 

"Voices,  child?" 

"Aye,  mamma,  voices  from  Heaven  speak- 
ing in  my  heart.  Your  Jeanne  hears  them 
loud,  in  my  heart,  at  least,  and  they  say  I 
must  save  my  poor  sad  country." 

Jeanne's  mother  could  say  nothing,  but  won- 
der if  the  child  was  out  of  her  mind,  or  if  she 
had  really  had  a  vision  of  angels,  as  in  oldea 
times  they  came  to  the  shepherds  while  they 
watched  their  flocks.  • 

So  the  years  went  by,  Jeanne  always  saying 
that  these  heavenly  voices  were  calling  her  to 
save  her  unhappy  country,  her  friends  and 
neighbors  sometimes  calling  her  crazy. 

She  was  now  seventeen,  a  lovely  pure  girl, 
sorrowing  much  over  the  wars  and  troubles  of 
her  own  beloved  France.  Ah !  they  were  dark 
days  indeed ;  this  one  wanted  to  be  king,  and 
that  one  said  he  must  rule ;  armies  met  and 
fought,  and  some  of  the  young  men  who  went, 
from  Domremy,  and  with  whom  Jeanne  had 
played,  were  brought  back  from  the  battle  fields- 
wounded  and  dying. 

Then  came  a  great  army  over  from  England, 
and  city  after  city  of  France  fell  before  its  aw- 
ful march.  The  frightened  King  Charles  the 
Seventh  feared  all  was  lost.  He  knew  not 
whither  to  fly  with  his  sad  little  army.  But 
just  when  he  was  going  to  give  up  word  came 
to  him  about  the  girl  of  Domremy,  our  sweet. 
Jeanne.  Quickly  a  messenger  was  dispatched 
to  her  plain  little  home,  and  out  into  the  fields 
he  hastened  to  find  her  feeding  her  flock.  He 
urged  her  to  come  to  her  king  with  all  speed. 
She  knew  what  it  meant;  she  knew  her  hour 
was  now  come  to  save  her  "  la  belle  France." 

Bidding  her  mother  to  pray  for  her,  and  cov- 
ering her  neck  with  kisses,  she  was  soon  gal- 
loping off  with  the  messenger  to  the  camp  of  the- 


HEATHEN    WOMEN. 


king.  A  smile  of  hope  lit  up  his  anxious  face 
as  she  came  into  his  presence.  She  told  him 
about  the  "voices,"  and  said  she  was  sure  she 
could  lead  his  army  to  victory  if  he  would  give 
her  soldiers. 

So  then  and  there  he  put  upon  her  the  strong 
armor  of  commander,  and  giving  her  a  sword 
and  a  war  horse  she  led  her  little  band  against 
the  English.  They  had  heard  of  her,  and 
thought  she  was  sent  of  God,  and  fear  fell  upon 
them,  and  they  threw  down  their  arms  and  fled 
away  in  dismay. 

Meanwhile,  though  Jeanne  waved  her  flash- 
ing sword  she  never  struck 
a  blow  with  it,    but  she 
was     again     and     again 
wounded. 

At  last  came  complete 
victory,  and  Jeanne  saw 
the  enemies  of  her  be- 
loved France  fleeing  from 
Orleans  before  her  rejoic- 
ing army.  For  this  she 
was  called  ' '  La  Pucelle 
d' Orleans,"  or  the  Maid 
of  Orleans.  But  she  is 
usually  called  Joan  >  of 
Arc. 

After  so  much  triumph 
she  pleaded  with  her  king 
to  let  her  return  to  her 
dear  Domremy  home,  but 
he  would  not  consent. 
Meanwhile  some  of  the 
great  captains  envied  her 

all  her  victories,  and  man-  

-aged  to  let  her  be  taken 
prisoner.  Now  comes  the 

sad,  sad  thing  to  tell.  After  this  noble  girl  had 
saved  her  country,  her  king  and  the  others  let 
her  be  put  into  prison,  tried,  condemned,  and 
burned  to  death  as  a  witch !  This  is  not  the 
only  case  in  which  the  best  friend  a  country 
ever  had  was  cruelly  treated  by  that  country. 
Jesus  was  crucified,  crucified  by  his  own  people, 
whom  he  came  to  save.  But  scarcely  had 
twenty  years  gone  by  before  all  the  bitter  per- 
secutors of  this  dear  brave  Jeanne  came  to 
violent  deaths,  and  the  people,  instead  of  calling 


her  a  witch,  proclaimed  her  innocent,  and  a 
statue  was  erected  to  her  memory  on  the  very 
spot  where  she  was  burned,  and  her  family  was 
promoted  by  the  king.  L. 


HEATHEN   WOMEN. 

kNE  of  the  two  is  smoking.  She  likes  it, 
too.  Men  say  it  is  nice  to  smoke  and 
chew  tobacco ;  why  should  not  the  women  have 
as  good  a  time  as  the  men?  Or  why  is  it 
any  worse  for  a  woman  than  a  man?  And  yet 


o: 


XYPES  OF  HEATHEN   WOMEN. 

if  the  girls  and  women  of  America  should  begin 
to  smoke  and  race  horses,  and  do  similar  things 
they  would  be  called  heathenish. 

So  it  is,  women  in  heathen  lands  all  have  bad! 
times  and  fall  into  bad  ways.  If  they  ever 
dress  themselves,  and  behave  themselves  as 
they  ought,  and  have  good,  lovely  homes,  and 
care  tenderly  for  their  children,  it  will  be  when 
they  learn  about  Jesus,  who  came  and  died  to 
save  a  lost  world.  How  can  they  learn  without 
a  preacher?  L. 


STATUE    AT     COPAN,     GUATEMALA 


STATUE    AT   COPAH,    GUATEMALA. 


TYPES     OF     UNCIVILIZED     CHINESE     WOMEN. 


TYPES    OF    UNCIVILIZED    CHINESE    WOMEN. 


CELIA'S     EASTER     OFFERING. 


"FAX  AND   FIGGERS." 


~Y~1TT"E  clip  from  the  Union  Signal  a  remark- 
V  V  able  "queer  story,"  joined  to  an  arith- 
metical problem.  The  story  has  a  moral  well 
worth  considering,  and  a  "sum"  worth  doing. 
"I  hav  of  lait  got  at  sum  stubbun  fax  and 
figgers.  2  siggars  a  day,  costing  oanly  a  nikkle 
eech,  for  20  yeers  at  1st  Site  appeers  to  Bee  a 
smol  matter.  Let  us  figger  the  cost.  10  sents 
daly  for  365  daze  reeches  the  sum  ov  $36.50. 
We  will  not  rekkon  interrist  the  first  yeer,  but 
the  interrist  on  $36.50  for  19  yeers  at  6  purr 
sent  is  $73.92,  and  the  Totle  ov  prinsipple  and 
interrist  at  6  Purr  sent,  kompoundid  yeerly,  at 
the  end  ov  20  yeers  maiks  the  neet  little  Sum 
ov  $1,338.54.  That  izzn't  a  grate  eel,  but  it 
wood  Bi  200  barrils  ov  good  flower,  and  in  Sum 
sekshuns  ov  the  kuntry  wood  maik  wun  the 
oaner  ov  a  good  farm,  with  houce,  barn,  wel, 
sisstern,  froot  treeze  and  wood-lot  on  it,  possi- 
bly a  jurzy  cow  and  sum  Uther  niknax  throne 
into  the  bargin.  But  my  expeeryunce  has  tot 
me  that  fax  and  figgers  prodoose  but  a  Slite 
impresshun  on  wun  who  has  fully  dessidid  to 
maik  bacon  ov  his  Branes  bi  turning  his  mouth 
into  a  smoakhouce.  He  communly  prefurs  the 
hi  and  eggzaltid  priwylige  ov  bloin  smoak  thru 
hiz  noze  to  having  enny  uther  erthly  pozeshun." 


A  PUZZLE. 

IF  an  S  and  an  I  and  an  O  and  a  U, 
With  an  X  at  the  end  spell  Su ; 
And  an  E  and  a  Y  and  an  E  spell  I, 
Pray  what  is  a  speller  to  do? 

Then,  if  also  an  S  and  an  I  and  a  G 

And  an  H,  E,  D  spell  cide, 
There's  nothing  much  left  for  a  speller  to  do 

But  to  go  and  commit  siouxeyesighed. 

—  Selected. 


CELIA'S   EASTER    OFFERING. 

ELLA'S  share  of  the  flowers 
was  lovely.  She  buried  her 
face  in  the  blooms  again  and 
again,  and  seemed  unable  to 
get  enough  of  their  sweetness. 
They  had  spent  the  entire 
morning  in  the  woods  hunting  for  treasures, 
she  and  her  particular  friend,  Helen  Beardsley. 
Helen  attended  another  Sunday-school,  so  they 
had  carefully  divided  the  flowers,  for  they  were 
to  be  used  in  decorating  the  church  for  the 
Easter  service. 

' '  You  will  smell  all  the  sweetness  out  of  those 
things,  child,"  said  Miss  Agatha  Foster,  look- 


HESTKK    THOUGHT    ABOUT    IT. 


ing  up  from  the  bit  of  satin  she  was  carefully 
embroidering.  Miss  Agatha  was  Celia's  oldest 
sister. 

"O,    no,   I   won't!"  said    Celia,  laughing; 


CELIA'S     EASTER     OFFERING. 


* '  they  have  all  the  sweetness  of  the  woods  in 
them.  You  can't  think  how  the  woods  smelled 
this  morning !  It  seemed  just  like  heaven." 

Agatha  and  the  middle  sister,  Lorene,  looked 
at  each  other  and  laughed. 

' '  "What  an  idea !  "  said  Lorene ;  "  it  is  the 
first  time  I  ever  heard  the  woods  compared  to 
heaven." 

Mrs.  Foster  came  into  the  room  at  that  mo- 
ment, and  stopped  by  the  table  near  the  door  to 

arrange  the  books ; 
there  was  a  tired, 
somewhat  troubled 
look  on  her  face. 
"  Poor  Hester  has 
had  to  be  disap- 
pointed again  about 
going  home,"  she 
said. 

' '  "Why,  mother, "  said 
Agatha,  "that  is  really  too 
bad.  It  is  the  third  Satur- 
day she  has  missed,  and 


their  baby  is 
sick,  you 
know." 

" I  know 
it,"  said  Mrs. 
Foster,  look- 
ing more  troubled  still ;  ' '  but  what  can  I  do  ? 
There  will  be  company  to  tea,  and  cook  cannot 
leave  the  kitchen  to  answer  the  bell ;  she  can 
not  even  attend  to  the  downstairs  bell ;  it  rings 
every  few  minutes  on  Saturdays ;  besides, 
there  is  extra  work  for  her  to  do,  and  some- 
body must  set  the  table  for  her.  I  don't  sup- 
pose either  of  you  could  give  her  a  lift,  could 
you,  and  let  Hester  go?  " 

There  was  inquiry  in  the  mother's  tone,  but 
no  expectation.     Agatha  lifted  her  eyebrows, 


but  there  was  a  difficult  spot  in  her  embroidery 
just  then,  so  she  made  no  reply;  but  Lorene 
turned  quite  away  from  the  piano  to  answer : 

' '  "Why,  mother,  how  could  we  ?  I  have  my 
practicing  to  do ;  I  have  to  sing  twice  to-mor- 
row, you  know.  Of  course  that  would  not  take 
me  long,  but  we  couldn't  run  to  the  d6or  every 
time  the  bell  rang,  could  we,  and  receive  callers 
at  the  same  time  ?  " 

"And  as  for  setting  the  table,"  said  Agatha, 
who  had  righted  her  embroidery  and  was  taking 
neat  stitches,  "  I  never  could  get  all  the  things 
on  a  table.  It  wouldn't  be  possible  for  me  to 
set  it  for  company." 

"I  suppose  it  cannot  be  arranged,"  said  Mrs. 
Foster.  "I  must  finish  Grandma's  cap  so  she 
can  wear  it  this  evening ;  her  other  is  really 
unfit,  and  I  have  several  stitches  to  take  for 
Celia,  as  well.  Hester  must  wait  another  week. 
I  told  her  so ;  but  she  seemed  so  disappointed 
that  I  wondered  if  there  were  not  some  way  to 
plan  it." 

"Perhaps  she  can  run  down  there  after  tea 
to  see  how  the  baby  is,"  Lorene  said,  but  Mrs. 
Foster  shook  her  head.  "  Cook  will  need  her 
to  look  after  things  in  the  kitchen  while  she 
waits  on  table,  and  it  will  be  quite  dark  before 
we  shall  be  through;  she  could  not  go  alone 
after  dark." 

It  was  Agatha's  turn  to  sigh.  ""We  need  a 
second  girl,"  she  said;  "it  is  ridiculous  for  a 
family  of  our  size  to  try  to  get  along  with  only 
cook,  and  that  little  bit  of  a  Hester." 

""We  shall  certainly  have  to  get  along,"  was 
her  mother's  answer,  spoken  with  quiet  posi- 
tiveness ;  "  you  know  as  well  as  I  that  we  can 
not  afford  more  help  this  season." 

Meantime  Celia,  her  fingers  still  busy  with 
the  masses  of  flowers  she  was  trying  to  arrange 
in  a  basket  for  carrying,  had  listened,  her  face 
growing  more  and  more  gravely  thoughtful. 

It  was  Sabbath  evening  in  her  thoughts,  and 
she  was  in  the  Christian  Endeavor  meeting, 
listening  to  Agatha's  voice  while  she  quoted 
from  some  grand  old  writer  a  thought  like  this  : 
"We  plan  our  Easter  offerings,  and  beautify 
His  temple  for  the  glad  day,  and  that  is  well ; 
but  we  are  to  remember  that  as  there  would 
have  been  no  Easter  had  He  not  given  Himself, 


CELIA'S    EASTEK    OFFEEING. 


so  the  highest  and  best  offering  we  can  bring 
to  Him  is  our  unselfish  consecrated  selves." 
Celia  remembered  the  thrill  with  which  she  had 
listened.  Agatha's  voice  was  like  music,  and 
the  thoughts  had  seemed  to  fit  her  voice  and 
make  a  poem  of  them,  which  had  thrilled  the 
beauty-loving  heart  of  her  young  sister. 

That  was  a  week  ago.  Why  should  the 
words  come  back  to  her  this  afternoon,  and 
ring  in  her  heart  like  soft  bells,  calling  her? 

What  had  they  to  do  with  Hester,  and  the 
door-bells  to  answer,  and  the  table  to  set  for 
company,  and  a  sick  baby  at  home?  "The 
highest'  and  best  offering  we  can  bring  to  Him 
is  our  unselfish  consecrated  selves,"  rang  the 
bells  in  her  heart,  and  her  lips  spoke :  ' '  Mother, 
may  I  take  Hester's  place  this  afternoon,  and 
let  her  go  home?  I  can  set  the  table;  cook 
said  I  did  it  beautifully  the  last  time." 

"You!"  said  her  mother,  in  surprise,  and 
both  the  sisters  exclaimed.  "Why,  I  thought, 
dear,  your  class  was  to  meet  at  Marion's  to  help 
arrange  the  flowers  for  the  Easter  service  ?  " 

"And  I  thought  you  were  all  invited  to  stay 
to  tea  at  Marion's  ?  "  added  Agatha. 

"So  we  are,"  said  Celia,  answering  them 
both  in  one ;  "  but  the  girls  can  get  along  well 
enough  without  me.  There  are  eight  of  them, 
and  Marion's  Aunt  Laura  is  going  to  show 
them  how  to  arrange  everything;  and  as  for 
staying  to  tea,  why,  I  can  do  that  another  time ; 
and  the  baby  is  sick,  and  Hester  is  worried 
about  him,  I  know.  I  should  like  to  stay, 
mother,  truly,  if  you  will  let  me." 

"Let  you,  child!  I  shall  be  thankful  for 
your  help.  To  tell  the  truth,  it  seemed  really 
selfish  to  keep  Hester  this  afternoon,  only  I  did 
not  know  how  to  plan ;  I  was  sure  cook  could 
not  get  along  without  help,  though  she  was  will- 
ing to  try,  because  she  felt  sorry  for  Hester." 

"  May  I  tell  Hester  about  it,  mother?"  Celia 
asked,  her  eyes  shining;  "and  she  can  carry 
my  flowers  and  leave  them  at  Marion's." 

The  flowers  and  their  owner  went  away  to- 
gether, followed  by  Mrs.  Foster.  As  for  the 
young  ladies,  Agatha  took  pretty  pink  silk 
stitches  on  the  lovely  white  satin  and  said  not 
a  word,  while  Lorene,  turning  to  the  piano, 
played  a  few  bars,  and  sang  softly : 


"  Low  in  the  grave  he  lay, 
Jesus  my  Saviour," 

breaking  off  to  say:   "  Celia  is  a  strange  little 
girl,  isn't  she  ?  " 

"Very  strange,"  answered  Agatha,  and  she 
finished  a  pink  bud  as  she  spoke.  She  was 
making  an  Easter  offering. 

Nobody,  it  is  safe  to  say,  was  more  surprised 
at  the  turn  of  affairs  than  was  Hester.  She 
thought  about  it  while  she  hurriedly  combed  the 
tangle  of  hair  before  her  bit  of  broken  glass, 
and  made  ready  for  going  home.  She  was 
worried  about  the  baby,  but  she  divided  her 
thoughts  with  this  strange  offering  from  Celia. 
She  knew  all  about  the  Easter  flowers,  and  the 
plans  for  the  afternoon,  and  the  high  tea  to- 
gether at  Marion's  lovely  home.  Celia's  talk 
had  been  full  of  it  for  the  past  two  days.  "I'd 
just  like  to  know  what  made  her  do  it,  anyhow," 
was  Hester's  concluding  question,  offered  aloud 
to  the  tin  basin,  in  which  she  energetically 
washed  her  hands  when  the  hair  was  done. 

Easter  morning  was  beautiful  with  sunshine 
and  the  song  of  birds,  when  Celia,  looking  from 
her  window,  saw  Hester  tripping  around  to  the 
back  door.  She  had  been  allowed  to  stay  at 
home  all  night. 

"O,  Hester!"  called  Celia.  "how  is  the 
baby?" 

Hester  looked  up  with  a  glad  smile.  "He 
is  better,"  she  said,  "ever  so  much  better. 
Mother  would  have  sent  me  word,  only  she 
expected  me.  He  laughed  and  crowed  as  soon 
as  he  saw  me,  and  you  can't  think  what  a  lovely 
time  I  had  with  him.  Say,  Celia,  I  want  to 
know  what  made  you  do  it  ?  " 

Celia's  sensitive  face  flushed,  and  she  hesi- 
tated. How  was  she  to  tell  Hester  why  she 
did  it  ?  From  the  next  room  came  the  notes  of 
Lorene's  voice,  as  clear  as  any  bird's,  rising 
high  and  pure : 

"  Low  in  the  grave  he  lay, 
Jesus  my  Saviour." 

"It  was  that,"  she  said  simply. 

"What?"  asked  Hester;  "I  don't  know 
what  you  mean." 

"That  that  Lorene  is  singing.  He  'lay  in 
the  grave,'  you^know,  for  us.  That  is  why  it 


CELIA'S     EASTER     OFFERING. 


is  Easter.  I  wanted  to  do  something  for  some- 
body, and  I  hadn't  any  big  thing." 

"It  was  a  big  thing  to  me,"  Hester  said,  and 
went  inside  the  back  door.  Celia's  face  was 
just  a  trifle  shadowed.  Despite  every  effort  to 
put  it  away,  the  thought  would  come  :  "  After 
all,  I  needn't  have  given  it  up.  The  baby  is 
better,  and  her  mother  would  have  sent  her 
word,  and  another  Saturday  would  have  done 
just  as  well ;  and  I  missed  all  the  beauty  and 
the  fun.  I  know  how  to  arrange  flowers." 

The  shadow  staid  just  a  little  during  the 
Sunday-school  hour.  The  girls  were  eager 
over  the  delights  of  the  day  before  —  eager  to 
know  how  she  could  possibly  have  staid  away. 
The  lovely  cross  made  largely  of  her  own  flow- 
ers, and  bearing  on  their  green  background  in 
pure  white  blossoms  the  words,  "He  is  risen," 
was  the  most  beautiful  floral  decoration  in  the 
church.  "Aunt  Laura  made  it,"  Marion  said. 
"  You  did  not  deserve  to  have  it  arranged  so 
beautifully ;  we  thought  you  ought  to  have  had 
interest  enough  to  have  come  and  seen  it,  any- 
how. Why  didn't  you  ?  " 

"Nevermind  now,"  said  Celia;   "  I  cannot 


explain,  only  I  thought  I  could  not  go."  Her 
offering  seemed  to  her  small  and  uncalled-for ; 
she  could  not  talk  about  it.  Yet,  before  the 
morning  prayer  in  church  was  over,  the  shadow 
had  lifted.  "I  did  it  truly  for  Him,"  said 
Celia  softly,  to  herself ;  ' '  He  knows  I  did,  and 
whether  it  was  of  use  or  not,  it  is  all  right." 
And  when  Lorene  sang,  in  a  voice  like  an 
angel's : 

"  Low  in  the  grave  he  lay, 

Jesus  my  Saviour," 

she  could  not  help  being  glad  that  she  did  it. 
That  evening,  when  they  were  coming  out  of 
the  Christian  Endeavor  meeting,  the  minister, 
who  was  shaking  hands  with  the  young  people 
on  every  side,  held  in  his  left  hand  a  single  calla 
lily  of  rare  beauty.  As  he  held  out  his  hand 
to  Celia  he  laid  the  lily  against  her  cheek  and 
said:  "That  is  for  you,  little  girl.  A  token 
from  the  Master,  I  think,  since  he  made  it. 
Let  me  tell  you  something  which  will  make  it 
bloom  for  you  forever.  Hester  came  to  me 
this  evening  to  say  that  she  wanted  to  belong 
to  Jesus,  and  learn  how  to  grow  like  him,  just 
as  you  had."  PANSY. 


BURSTING   INTO   LIFE. 


A     STORMY    MORNING. 


A  STORMY   MORNING. 


CBOSSING  THE  ATLANTIC.     (See  "  The  Old  World  Too.") 


WHITE     .AS     WOOL.  — MISS     LOUISE     JOHNSON'S     LETTER. 


WHITE  AS   WOOL. 

OOL  is  not  always  white.     Its 
owner   sometimes   is   black  — 
was  born  black.     It  can't  help 
it,  you  see.     Sometimes,  how- 
ever, it  gets  into  the  dirt,  and 
the  snowy  wool  becomes  dirty. 
Sometimes  it  creeps  among  the  burned  stumps 
and  logs,  and  soon  looks  as  black  as  the  stump 
itself. 

Now  what  happens  ?  The  shearer  does  not 
want  to  clip  off  such  stuff,  and  the  merchant 
can't  sell  dirty  wool,  nor  can  the  weaver  weave 
a  nice  shawl  from  it ;  and,  if  he  did,  no  clean 
Pansy  would  want  to  put  it  on  week  days  or 
Sundays. 

What  then  ?  It  must  be  washed.  The  dirty 
black  sheep-  must  be  put  into  the  water,  and 
washed  and  washed  and  washed. 

Then  let  him  go  up  from  the  water  and  give 
himself  a  good  shaking  and  stand  in  the  greeu 
grass  and  let  the  warm,  shining  sun  dry  its  hair 
—  I  mean  wool. 

Now  it,  is  white  and  soft  and  beautiful,  and 
,j 

if  Mr.  Sheep  could  see  himself  in  the  looking- 
glass  he  might  be  proud  of  his  beauty. 

The  blood  of  Jesus  Christ  cleanses  from  all 
sin.  Sin  is  a  dirty  thing  —  worse  than  mud. 
Heathenism  is  a  dreadfully  dirty,  filthy  thing. 
The  Gospel  we  send  them  is  like  water  for  the 
dirty  wool. 

The  Bible  says  to  the  worst  sinner  there  is 
in  the  world : 

"Though  your  sins  be  as  scarlet,  they  shall 
be  as  white  as  snow ;  though  they  be  red  like 
they  shall  be  as  wool."     (Is.  i.  18.) 

L. 


EASTER   GREETING. 

BE  thy  risen  Lord,  to-day, 
All  thy  help  and  all  thy  stay ; 
All  thy  comfort  in  the  night ; 
All  thy  gladness  in  the  light ; 
Filling,  with  his  love  divine, 
Every  hungering  of  thine  ! 

ALICE  F.  DUNLAP. 


MISS   LOUISE   JOHNSON'S   LETTER. 

HE  wrote  it  from  Lien  Chow, 
China.      It   was   published   in 
"Woman's  Work  for  Woman." 
Here  it  is : 

"We  expect  to  be  packed 
into  smaller  boats  this  p.  M.  to 
go  the  last  ten  miles  up  the  Sam  Kong  River. 
People  are  looking  at  the  windows.  Women  are 
expressing  astonishment  that  I  can  write.  .  .  . 
"We  have  had  a  charming  trip.  The  beauty 
of  the  country  grows  upon  me.  Many  of  the 
clear  crystal  waterfalls  were  several  hundred 
feet  in  descent.  The  river  winds  around  the 
bases  of  mountains,  and  so  seems  to  be  a  suc- 


"WE    TRAVELED    IX   THE    DAYTIME." 

cession  of  beautiful  lakes.  It  reminds  one  of 
Delaware  Water  Gap. 

"We  traveled  in  the  daytime,  stopping  an 
hour  or  two.  Then  came  the  sick  to  our  Dr. 
Machle.  We  gave  tracts  to  the  people.  At 
one  place  the  women  came  in  little  boats.  I 
stood  at  the  window  and  read  to  them.  They 
listened,  and  thanked  me  for  '  teaching '  them. 

"  I  want  to  write  more  letters,  though  I  now 
write  many.  It  takes  three  months  for  a  letter 
and  its  reply  from  New  York  to  Canton  ;  four 
months  to  Sam  Kong.  I  like  to  write,  and  am 
delighted  to  get  letters.  Some  of  the  best  have 
been  from  strangers.  So  all  my  dear  young 
friends  may  continue  to  write  me ;  I  will  answer 
as  soon  as  I  can  get  time." 


BABY'S     CORNER. 


BABY'S    CORNER. 

A    MAY    MORNING. 

N  a  green  yard  stands  a  gray 
old  house.  In  the  house  live 
six  happy  children.  They  have 
many  things  to  make  them 
glad  and  happy. 

All  around  are  green  fields  and  hills  and  tall 
trees.  Every  day  they  see  the  pretty  pictures 
which  the  sun  makes  in  the  sky  when  he  gets 
up  and  goes  to  bed.  There  are  no  big  houses 
in  the  way  to  hide  the  red  and  pink  clouds. 

A  little  brook  goes  dancing  by  at  the  foot  of 
the  hill.  You  can  see  the  little  white  stones 
through  the  water. 

They  have  a  great  many  pets  —  colts  and 
calves  and  chickens  and  rabbits  and  cats. 

And  there  are  ever  so  many  nice  things  for 
them  to  do.  They  fish  in  the  brook  or  take  off 
their  shoes  and  stockings  and  wade  in  the 
water.  They  hunt  in  the  grass  for  red  berries. 
They  swing  in  the  big  swing  under  the  maple- 
tree.  They  go  after  the  cows  and  hunt  butter- 
flies, and  tumble  on  the  hay  in  the  barn. 

Such  good  times ! 

This  bright  May  morning  mamma  and  all  six 
of  them  are  out  in  the  orchard.  The  apple- 
trees  are  full  of  pink  and  white  flowers,  and 
the  cherry-trees  are  all  white,  like  pop  corn. 

What  a  pretty  sight ! 

The  air  is  sweet  with  the  breath  of  the  blos- 
soms. Everything  is  gay  and  happy.  The 
brook  is  tinkling,  the  bees  are  humming,  the 
birds  are  singing. 

Little  children  must  sing,  too.  Hark !  hear 
them. 

It  is  a  little  song  which  begins : 


"Blooming  May 
Makes  all  gay." 


And   this    little    song   ends   like    this  —  the 
children  all  like  to  sing  it : 

"  Tra  la  la  la  la  la  la.    Tra  la  la  la." 

MRS.  C.  M.  LIVINGSTON. 


KITTY   KNEW   ABOUT    SHEEP. 

EVEN  sheep  were  standing 

By  the  pasture  wall. 
Tell  me,"  said  the  teacher, 

To  her  scholars  small, 
"  One  poor  sheep  was  frightened, 

Jumped  and  ran  away. 
One  from  seven  —  how  many 
Woolly  sheep  would  stay?" 

Up  went  Kitty's  fingers  — 

A  farmer's  daughter  she, 
Not  so  bright  at  figures 

As  she  ought  to  be. 
"Please,  ma'am" — "Well,  then,  Kitty, 

Tell  us,  if  you  know." 
"Please,  if  one  jumped  over 

All  the  rest  would  ax>." 


SAID  Willie  :   "  The  Man  in  the  Moon 
In  Mother  Goose  came  down  too  soon, 
For  I've  read  it  over  and  over ; 
But  he'd  done  a  sillier  thing  to-day, 
When  Flossie  and  I  went  out  to  play 

And  roll  in  the  field  of  clover. 
For  up  in  the  sky,  right  overhead, 
When  every  star  had  gone  to  bed, 
And  the  sun  was  shining  bright, 
We  saw  his  moon,  looking  pale  and  thin, 
Because  he'd  forgotten  to  take  it  in, 
After  hanging  there  all  night !  " 

—  Selected, 


ROBERT     BURNS. 


BURNS'S    HIGHLAND   MARY. 


THE     BEE'S     WISDOM.— THE     HARD     TEXT. 


THE   BEE'S   WISDOM. 

SAID  a  wandering  little  maiden 
To  a  bee  with  honey  laden, 
"  Bee,  at  all  the  flowers  you  work, 
Yet  in  some  does  poison  lurk." 

"  That  I  know,  my  pretty  maiden," 
Said  the  bee  with  honey  laden, 
"But  the  poison  I  forsake, 
And  the  honey  only  take." 

"  Cunning  bee,  with  honey  laden, 
That  is  right,"  replied  the  maiden ; 
"  So  will  I,  from  all  I  meet, 
Only  draw  the  good  and  sweet." 

— Selected. 


THE   HARD   TEXT. 

(Matt.  xii.  34.) 

O  GENERATION  of  vipers." 
Thus  Jesus  called  the  Jews  or  their 
leaders.  Put  this  with  other  names  he  gave 
them — "hypocrites,"  "fools  and  blind,"  "ser- 
pents "  (read  the  twenty-third  chapter  of  Mat- 
thew) —  and  maybe  you  will  wonder  how  he,  so 
gentle  and  forgiving,  could  do  it. 

"Yes,"  you  say,  "they  did  provoke  Him; 
they  treated  Him  most  outrageously,  calling 
Him  all  sorts  of  bad  names,  and  finally  putting 
Him  to  death  in  the  most  cruel  manner.  But 
it  does  not  seem  quite  right  for  Him  to  call 
them  vile  names  back  again.  It  looks  as 
though  He  lost  his  temper  and  became  awfully 
angry  with  his  enemies." 

Indeed  it  does  say  He  once  looked  around 
upon  them  with  anger.  So  you  are  right  with 
that  word,  but  its  real  meaning  is  indignation, 
the  righteous  feeling  every  one  should  have 
against  wrong.  Thus  you  ought  to  feel  against 
swearing,  stealing,  the  liquor  business  and  all 
such  things.  It  would  be  wicked  for  you  to 
smile  at  such  things.  So  much  for  anger — the 
anger  of  Jesus.  Now  about  "calling  names." 
You  must  remember  Jesus  knew  the  hearts 
-of  these  Pharisee  Jews  —  how  black,  how  vile 
they  were,  while  they  thought  themselves  quite 
good  and  beautiful.  Gentle  talk  to  them  did 
no  good.  To  have  them  see  themselves  as  they 
really  were,  he  must  be  plain ;  he  must  speak 
out.  What  he  did  was  not  "calling  names"  as 
one  boy  does  to  another,  when  he  is  "mad" 
with  him  and  hates  him.  Jesus  did  not  hate 
them,  bad  as  they  were.  He  would  save  them 
if  they  would  repent  and  come  to  him.  So  he 
must  warn  them  by  telling  them  the  awful  truth. 
So  it  was ;  Jesus  could  draw  some  by  gentle, 
loving  words  and  ways ;  others,  if  saved  at  all, 
must  be  driven.  Jesus  acted  according  to  the 
kind  of  people  he  was  speaking  to. 

May  we  sometimes  deal  this  terrible  way  with 
sinners?  May  ministers  do  it?  Some  years 
ago  Rev.  C.  G.  Finney  did  often  speak  to  many 
who  came  out  to  opp.ose  him  and  make  fun  of  re- 
ligion—  he  did  speak  very  plainly  and  severely. 
It  is  said  Mr.  Moody  once  rebuked  a  wicked 


SOMETHING    FOR    PAPA. 


man  this  very  way.  But  not  every  one  can 
•wisely  do  it.  It  must  be  done  with  great  sor- 
row. No  doubt  it  almost  broke  Jesus'  heart  to 
say  such  plain  things.  A  parent  sometimes 
must  punish  a  naughty  child ;  it  hurts  him  to 
do  it,  however.  He  often  weeps  more  than  the 
punished  child.  L. 


SOMETHING  FOR  PAPA. 

Y  this  time  you  are  feeling  that 
papa  is  being  neglected,  and 
that  mamma  and  sister  are 
having  all  the  gifts ;  though  I 
believe  papa  would  like  the 
nice  writing-case  with  pockets 
which  we  planned  in  November  quite  as  well, 
perhaps,  as  any  member  of  the  family.  How- 
ever, I  am  sure  of  one  thing  he  will  like,  and 
it  is  something  which  you,  my  girl,  can  make, 
with  some  industry  and  very  little  expense. 

I  do  hope  you  know  how  to  knit,  the  nice 
old-fashioned  knitting  which  our  dear  grand- 
mothers understood  so  well?  If  you  do  not, 
my  first  advice  to  you  is  to  master  that  fine  art 
\vhich  has  of  late  years  gone  so  nearly  out  of 
fashion;  it  is  coming  to  the  front  again,  and 
there  is  no  end  to  the  neat  little  comforts  which 
you  can  make  with  the  aid  of  a  ball  of  tidy 
cotton  and  two  large  knitting  needles.  I  will 
not  attempt  to  teach  you  the  stitch  on  paper, 
though  if  you  sat  by  my  side  I  could  show  it 
to  you  with  very  little  trouble.  If  there  is  not 
a  dear  white-haired  grandmother  in  your  home, 
as  I  hope  there  is,  borrow  one  of  some  friend, 
and  beg  her  to  teach  you  how  to  knit.  Of 
course  it  is  just  possible  that  mamma  herself 
understands  the  stitch ;  you  might  try  her. 

Having  learned  it — which  I  am  sure  you  can 
do  in  an  hour  —  get  two  large-size  needles  of 
steel,  or  ivory,  or  wood  —  I  like  to  use  wood  — 
and  a  ball  of  the  very  coarsest  tidy  cotton  you 
can  find,  and  set  to  work.  Cast  on  as  many 
stitches  as  the  needle  will  conveniently  carry, 
and  knit  back  and  forth,  back  and  forth  indus- 
triously, until  you  have  a  strip  a  yard  long. 
Oh!  it  will  require  patience  and  industry;  I 
told  you  that  in  the  beginning,  you  know. 


Having  finished  the  strip  begin  again,  and 
make  another  precisely  like  it;  then  a  third, 
and  perhaps,  if  your  needles  are  not  very  long, 
a  fourth  —  you  might  consult  with  mamma  or 
Auntie  as  to  that.  When  the  four  are  finished 
—  in  order  to  be  sure  to  have  the  article  large 
enough  we  will  say  four  —  fold  the  side  edges 
of  two  neatly  together,  and  knit  them  together 
with  a  crochet  hook,  or  sew  them  with  a  needle 
and  some  of  the  tidy  cotton,  as  you  will ;  add 
the  third  and  fourth  in  the  same  manner,  and 
when  all  is  complete  if  you  do  not  have  a  bath 
towel  which  will  please  papa  better  than  any 
Turkish  towel  he  ever  bought,  I  shall  be  aston- 
ished and  disappointed.  For  fear  of  discourag- 
ing you  at  the  outset,  I  mentioned  a  yard  as 
the  length,  but  let  me  whisper  to  you,  entirely 
in  confidence,  that  if  you  should  make  it  a  yard 
and  a  half  long,  or  even  a  trifle  longer,  papa 
would  like  it  better  still.  You  see  I  have  heard 
the  gentlemen  groan  over  short  bathing  towels, 
and  I  know  all  about  it. 

You  see  with  how  very  little  expense  such  an 
article  could  be  made,  and  I  really  do  not  know 
of  any  one  thing  which  will  add  more  to  the 
comfort  of  the  toilet.  Some  gentlemen  like 
very  coarse  and  rough  bathing  towels,  in  which 
case  macreme'  cord  is  sometimes  used  instead 
of  tidy  cotton ;  probabty  mamma  could  advise 
you  wisely  in  this  direction,  also. 

If  you  undertake  such  a  gift,  I  hope  you  will 
have  the  kindness  to  write  and  tell  me  how  you 
succeeded,  when  and  how  the  gift  was  pre- 
sented, what  was  said,  and  all  about  it. 

Your  friend,  PANSY. 


IF  anything  unkind  you  hear 

About  some  one  you  know,  my  dear, 

Do  not,  I  pray  you,  it  repeat 

When  you  that  some  one  chance  to  meet ; 

For  such  news  has  a  leaden  way 

Of  clouding  o'er  a  sunny  day. 

But  if  you  something  pleasant  hear 

About  some  one  you  know,  my  dear, 

Make  haste  —  to  make  great  haste  'twere  well, 

To  her  or  him  the  same  to  tell ; 

For  such  news  has  a  golden  way 

Of  lighting  up  a  cloudy  day.  —  Selected. 


|';E*.  / 
/'      * 

-  -y  / 


eoffrey 


little      bn 


o  liked  to  strut 
dbout 


And  w&ve  &,  sword  OP 
^Koot   5,  bo\v 


Ar\d  racise A mrfeial  shout, 


r\e 


Ke  ,< 

ike  tKis 


And  did  Ke  run?  OK, no' 
He  cexu^Kt  tKis  walkirx 

Kelmet   fast 
Ar\d  revised   the    visor 

so! 


